A Dog Makes Three
by A-blackwinged-bird
Summary: Story Complete! After Hutch befriends a scrawny canine, the four-legged companion accompanies the guys in their latest bout of trouble. (Reviews make me feel good... hint)
1. Default Chapter

_"If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience."  
Woodrow Wilson _

David Starsky sat behind the wheel of his red Ford Torino, staring at the passenger seat.

It was empty.

Starsky rolled his eyes and shifted his weight against the car's leather interior, feeling his guns' warm metal press against his ribs. The sun was shining brightly outside, despite the early morning hour. It reflected sharply off the hood of the idling car, throwing a sunspot on the front of the Venice Place apartment building across the street. Right on Hutch's window.

Ken Hutchinson was late. Starsky glanced at his watch. Okay, so maybe three minutes didn't qualify as 'late' yet, but there was still breakfast to be ate, and Starsky was hungry now. Hutch had promised they could grab some doughnuts this morning before reporting to Captain Dobey, and by God, Starsky would not let his partner weasel out of his promise.

Starsky pressed hard on the Torino's horn. An angry shout echoed through the street from a neighboring occupancy. "Sorry," Starsky muttered, a response born from his nice-guy reflex. He sighed, then ran a hand through his dark curly hair and dropped his elbow onto the car's window frame. He glanced at the empty passenger seat.

The bang of a door being thrown open pulled his attention back to his partner's apartment. "Finally," he sighed, dropping his hand to the steering wheel. The Torino shuddered in relief and Starsky eased his foot off the brake. "I'm leaving!" he shouted as the striped car slid forward on the asphalt.

Hutch jogged across the street and grabbed the door handle. "Would ya wait just a minute Starsk? I'm coming."

Starsky grinned as the blonde detective opened the car door and threw himself inside, landing heavily on the black leather seat. "Bad morning?" he asked casually as Hutch pulled the door shut.

Hutch straightened himself and took a deep breath, obviously centering his emotions. Starsky grinned wider and moved his foot from the brake to the gas as his partner replied, "No, I was just a few minutes behind. Why are you in such a hurry?"

In response, Starsky let his jaw drop in exasperation, hoping to jog the blonde's memory.

"Oh yeah."

"Come on partner, a nice big, fried, sugary doughnut is what you need this morning. It'll wake you up."

Hutch swallowed and looked at Starsky. "I already had breakfast." He paused. "Nice shirt."

Starsky glanced down at his chest and the blue shirt that covered it. "Thanks," he replied, then turned his gaze back to the road. "But that algae shake wouldn't count for a meal anywhere."

Now Hutch huffed with indignation. "It's not algae, Starsky, like I've told you a million times before-"

"Please Hutch, not before breakfast, huh?"

"Fine."

They were halfway to Krispy Kreme when Hutch spoke again. "Perfect weather for our camping trip," he said as he looked out the passenger window.

Starsky groaned inwardly. "Yeah."

"Oh come on Starsk, it'll be fun."

"Yeah. Right."

Hutch chuckled then sobered. "I really like that shirt."

"Do we have to camp _all_ weekend?" Starsky whined. He knew he was whining, and he didn't care. "Three whole nights _outside_?"

"That's the idea."

Starsky snorted.

"Come on, it'll be good for ya. Breathe some fresh air, get some exercise…"

"Get stung by insects, sleep on the hard ground…"

"City boy."

"Hillbilly." Starsky steered the car into the parking lot. "You're buying," he said, reminding his partner as he turned off the engine.

"I'm contributing to your early death," Hutch replied, nonetheless retrieving his wallet.

Starsky was already out of the car. "Hey, I love this song!" he exclaimed as the upbeat tempo of 'My Sharona' reached the detective's ears. The song was playing on the radio of a Pontiac that was stopped at the intersection and Starsky immediately began shamelessly bobbing to the beat.

"Would you knock it off, you're in public," Hutch said as he followed his partner into the store.

"That song is at the top of the charts," Starsky replied.

"Doesn't mean it's good."

Starsky selected three doughnuts and placed them in a bag. "Yeah it does, Blintz. The more people buy the record, the higher it moves up the charts."

"I know how it works," Hutch grumbled. "But the people buying the record have no taste in music to begin with."

Starsky's jaw dropped in time with his bagged breakfast. "I bought the record."

Hutch paid the cashier, seemingly avoiding Starsky's gaze. "Exactly. Let's go."

Hutch left the building and Starsky turned to the female cashier. "He drinks algae for breakfast," he said, excusing his partner before following Hutch outside.

Starsky stepped off the store's front step, his blue Adidas thudding softly on the glistening concrete. "You're one to talk, ya know," he started as he crossed the parking lot. Hutch was leaning impatiently against the hood of the brightly painted car and looked up at Starsky's approach.

"Will you hurry up?" Hutch asked, his face contradicting the sternness of his voice.

Starsky continued, unfazed by Hutch's dwindling mood. "I'd take The Knack any day over Eric Clapton."

Hutch glared at Starsky as keys the keys jingled. "The man happens to be a _real_ artist. We'll see where The Knack is in five years."

The partners got in their respective seats as Starsky brought the car to life. "At least we both seem to agree on the end of Disco."

"My Sharona," Hutch grumbled to the glass of the passenger window.

Starsky had his hand in the paper bag and his fingers sticky with doughnut glaze when the police radio beeped. "All units please respond to an 11-8 in the alley behind Daisy's Dry Cleaning on Vine Street. Possible 905V, proceed with caution."

Starsky shoved the doughnut in his mouth for storage as he turned the heavy car in the direction of Vine Street. He glanced at Hutch, whose hand was on the radio. "905V?"he mumbled around the doughnut.

Hutch shrugged. "Something about an animal," he said, but Starsky though it sounded like a guess. "This is Zebra 3, we are responding."

The car was pointed straight down the long stretch of road before them and Starsky took the doughnut, sans one bite, from his mouth. "We're not even in the woods yet and already the animals are attacking." He took another bite. "If this is any hint as to how our camping trip is going to go…"

Hutch rolled his eyes and threw the mars light on the roof of the car with practiced ease.

When they turned onto Vine Street, the location of the alley couldn't have been more obvious than if a giant flashing neon sign had been hung overhead. Three marked police cars, lights silently swirling blue and red, were parked with their noses to the alley's opening like steady bird dogs pointing a pheasant.

"Guess this is the place," Starsky teased as he downed the last of his doughnut and slid the Torino amongst the other cars.

Starsky and Hutch exited the car, guns drawn, and entered the dirty stone alley. The other officers were almost to the end of the alley, guns aimed at something Starsky couldn't yet see, and looking very nervous. He looked to Hutch, sent him a mental 'Be Careful' and nodded when the thought was returned. Together they traveled down the length of the alley, becoming more tense with each step, and stopped beside one of the focused officers.

Now that they were closer, Starsky could see what the problem was. Actually, the growling caught his attention first, and for once, it wasn't his stomach. In the corner of the end of the alley, amidst a rusted-out dumpster and yellowing newspapers, stood a shaggy, haggard dog, the cliché of all stray dogs. It's long, wiry brown hair was thickened with mats and debris, and despite it's substantial size, couldn't weigh more than 45 pounds. It's long tail hung low between it's hind legs, swishing back and forth as a snakes' might. It's ears stood upright but flopped forward, and it's piercing eyes resembled a hawks', glaring at the armed men through the long eyebrows obscuring it's face. The dog's head was also held low, causing it's knobby shoulder blades to jut roughly against it's hide as a low rumble tumbled through the animal's throat.

"Uh, Hutch… I think the 'V' in 905V stands for vicious."

"Yeah."

Then Starsky noted the bottom of a shoe lying on the other side of the dumpster, behind the dog. Caught up in the entrancing display from the animal, he had forgotten about the fallen person for which they had originally been called to the scene to investigate. The person may very well still be alive, but the defensive dog was blocking their aid. "Who's gonna do it?"

The officers looked at each other nervously.

"Look at it, it's most likely sick anyway. You'd be doing the poor thing a favor," Starsky said, lowering his 9mm a fraction.

"It's a _dog_," one of the officers replied.

Starsky took note of Officer Todd's name badge before rolling his eyes. "And it preventing us from helping a citizen," he said, glancing at Hutch. "Fine," he sighed after no one moved. "I'll do it."

Starsky took aim at the mangy, cornered dog. "Wait," Hutch said, lowering his weapon and putting a hand on Starsky in one fluid motion. "Let me try something first," he said, looking deeply into Starsky's eyes before turning and jogging back to the alley's opening.

"What is it with you people," Starsky sighed, lowering his gun once more.

"Have you ever owned a dog, sir?" Officer Todd asked.

"No," Starsky replied. "Never had much interest to."

"Well, then, with all due respect, you wouldn't understand."

"I guess not," Starsky replied, looking at the cowering animal. It's eyes were almost orange, and they were watching the alley's opening with interest. When the thing wasn't growling or baring very pointed canine teeth, it could almost be considered pet-like.

Hutch's feet pounded the wet asphalt in a runner's rhythm as he returned. In his hand was a white and green bag. Starsky felt his eyes widen. "Hey! That's my breakfast!"

"It's for your own good, buddy," Hutch replied, sparing Starsky a brief glance.

Starsky felt his eyes go even wider when he recognized the determination set on his partner's face. "Oh no, you are not going over there-"

"Starsk, it's okay. He's just scared. Once he realizes we won't hurt him, he'll be alright."

Starsky's eyes narrowed. "How do you know it's a 'he'?"

Hutch smiled. "Cover me?"

"As always, Blintz," Starsky replied softly, smiling at his friend's damn good-heartedness. His gun raised and found it's target, his finger tight on the trigger as Hutch moved forward towards the dog.

At Hutch's slow approach, the dog took a small step backwards, it's hock hitting the brick wall of a building. The dog's head lowered again and that unsettling low growl rumbled deeply.

"Hey boy, it's alright," Hutch murmured, his voice light and friendly. He turned his body slightly so that he was no longer approaching the scared animal head-on. Starsky watched in amazement as the dog responded by lifting it's head a fraction.

"Look what I have," Hutch continued as he rattled the paper bag. "This is a present from my partner back there."

Starsky watched as Hutch seemingly made a show of turning his head away from the dog to look at the four armed men. He looked back to the dog, took another step closer, his gaze not ever meeting the dogs', then discreetly licked his lips and turned his head to the other side.

There was magic at work here, Starsky was sure of it as the dog stopped growling and cocked it's head. He watched the proceedings down the length of his gun with more interest than he when watching the news on TV this morning. Without looking, he knew the other officers were captivated as well.

"Good boy," Hutch praised gently as he smiled. He sank to the ground, narrowly missing a puddle of oily water, and leaned back against the brick wall. "Come over here and get a treat."

The uniformed officers lowered their guns as the dog actually responded, taking hesitant steps toward Hutch and his offering. Starsky, the self-appointed protector of his best friend, remained in arms, not quite trusting the shaggy animal.

"Good dog," Hutch repeated as the dog moved roughly ten feet away from it's original location to join him. He held out the doughnut and the dog took it with caution, eyeing the man sitting before it with a soul-searching gaze. Finally, as the dog actually began to eat the offering, it's tail raised in a happy wag.

"It's alright," Hutch called to Starsky, still not yet touching the animal.

Starsky let his gun drop to his side as the uniformed officers moved to assist the still body behind the dumpster. "Are you sure?" he asked even as his holstered his weapon.

When the dog had finished the doughnut, it moved closer to Hutch and shoved it's black nose against the bag in Hutch's hand. With a grin, Hutch handed over the last doughnut. "I think so," he replied.

Starsky moved forward and the dog jumped, sinking to the asphalt in a submissive crouch beside Hutch. Starsky turned questioning eyes toward Hutch.

"I told you he was just scared," Hutch said, letting his hand fall slowly in front of the dog's face. The dog puffed, it's nose twitching as it smelled the warm hand then turned those sad orange eyes to Hutch's face, squinting through it's long hair.

Starsky felt odd as Hutch smiled at the dog and slowly rubbed the animal's cheek. Was it jealousy? A longing to have the same magical effect on vicious animals? No, Starsky realized, it was sadness.

That mutt had eaten his free breakfast.

Officer Todd approached. "Caucasian male, late fifties. DOA. Appears to be of natural causes."

Starsky sighed. "Call it in. Don't touch the body until the medical examiner looks at it." He looked back to the dog and his partner. They both met his gaze, the dog thumping it's tail and it's long, wet hair s_wishing_ in the movement. "And call animal control."

"Aw come on Starsk…"

"Oh don't start Hutch, okay? What are you going to do with it?" Starsky countered, shifting his weight.

"I don't know, but you can't just send it off to be executed."

Starsky sighed. There weren't many things that could turn his by-the-book partner into a sympathetic bowl of mush, but strays were one of them. "You know darn well that the animal shelter would try to find it a good home, so don't lay that guilt trip on me-"

"Gordo."

"What?"

"That's his name," Hutch replied, resting a hand on the dog's shoulders. "Gordo."

"Aww, Hutch, come on…"

"I think it suits him," Officer Todd spoke up.

"I told you to call this in," Starsky snapped. Todd's smile told him he was forgiving of the harsh order. "You can't do this," Starsky continued, his attention refocusing on Hutch. "You're a detective, you've got no time for a dog."

Hutch must have gotten tired of looking up at Starsky, because he pushed himself to his feet, using his height to his advantage now. ""I'll find him a home, I swear. I'll just take him home and give him dinner tonight, then tomorrow I'll place him with a nice, loving family."

Starsky winced as Hutch's blue eyes turned liquid. He was doing it, giving Starsky the patented 'Take-Pity-On-Me-Puppy-Dog-Gaze' that Hutch usually reserved for the women. Starsky forced himself to look away, but accidentally caught the same heartbreaking gaze from the thin dog. He sighed in resignation. "I swear, if that thing leaves fleas in my car, I'll-"

"Thanks Gordo."

"You're welcome."

"Not you, the dog."

Starsky's eyebrows dipped quickly as a look of hurt passed over his face. "Oh. Right." Then he caught Hutch's teasing smile and returned it. "Well, we had better get going. We're late."

The partners turned towards the alley's opening as more officials arrived. The dog, seemingly petrified of being alone, lurched forward and pressed itself to Hutch's leg. Starsky took note of the way the dog's head was the perfect height for the blonde detective to pet without having to bend over, fitting under Hutch's palm as if the dog had been created just for that purpose.

"Dobey's liable to have us do paperwork all weekend," Hutch muttered as the three walked towards the Torino.

Starsky's face lit up. "That would mean-"

But Hutch was too fast. "You'd really rather sit at that desk all weekend than go camping?"

Starsky shrugged. "There's the candy machine…"

"You're hopeless."

"You gave my breakfast to the mutt."

They reached the car, and Hutch looked at Starsky over the roof. "He needs it more than you."

"What are you saying?" Starsky asked with defiance as he opened the driver's door.

Hutch mimicked the action on the passenger side, and without a word, the dog leaped into the backseat. The detectives sat down and pulled the heavy doors shut simultaneously. "Nothing," Hutch replied, staring straight ahead.

Starsky looked down at himself, feeling strangely self-conscious. "You're just jealous because I don't _have_ to turn anorexic for 48 hours at a time."

Hutch rubbed his temples. "Starsky, it's more than that, it's about-"

"Your dog stinks."

When Hutch didn't reply, Starsky glanced at his partner. Hutch was staring at him. "What?"

"Where did you get that shirt?"

"Why?"

"I had one just like it. Raise you arm."

"I didn't take it from you," Starsky replied, inching away from his partner.

"I didn't say you did. Now lift your arm."

Starsky obeyed, searching his partner for any clue as to what was going through that blonde skull.

"Huh."

"What?"

Hutch smiled.

"What?"

Starsky let his arm fall to his side. Hutch looked straight ahead. "I gave that shirt to the Salvation Army last week. There was a small hole under the arm."

Starsky's face fell and he narrowed his eyes, checking the fabric himself, then looked back to his partner. Hutch was trembling with restrained laughter. "Well I like it."

"It is a nice shirt," Hutch laughed freely now. "I should know."

Starsky sank into his corner of the car with a frown and gunned the engine. He turned the car onto the street a little rougher than necessary, trying to get his point across. Something warm and wet landed in his ear and he flinched away, seeing the dog's head retreat out of his peripheral vision.

Hutch laughed harder as Starsky wiped at his ear and grumbled about insensitive partners and mangy mutts.


	2. Chapter 2

_"If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference between a dog and a man."  
Mark Twain _

"You sure you two will be okay?"

Starsky stood in the open doorway of Hutch's apartment, preparing to leave for the night. The investigation on the dead man they found that morning proved that he was indeed a homeless man who truly succumbed to disease strengthened by old age. Starsky felt remorse at the news, knowing that the man most likely would not even be missed, but also knowing there was nothing he could really do. Presumably, the dog had been the man's closest friend- closest relative, and the detectives were already seeing to the animal's immediate comfort. Starsky supposed that was enough.

Hutch once more had his hand on the dog's head. "Starsky, we'll be fine. Now please go home? We gotta get to the mountains early if we want a campsite."

Starsky sighed. He hated waking up early on a weekend more than he hated camping, but for his partner, he'd do anything. "And that," he emphasized with a pointed index finger, "will be gone by morning?"

Hutch looked down to the dog. "I told you, I got someone in mind. I'll give her a call as soon as you leave."

"If it's not gone, I'll take it to the pound."

"Goodnight Starsk."

"I'm not afraid to! Won't hurt my feelings any!"

Hutch gently shoved his friend. "I know partner. See you tomorrow."

Starsky opened his mouth but Hutch pretended not to notice and shut the door. He leaned his back against it in relief, looking at the quiet dog standing in the middle of his living room. "Sorry about that. He can get a little worked up sometimes."

The dog agreed.

Hutch rolled his eyes and sighed, then moved away from the door when he heard his partner's footsteps retreating. "It's okay boy, I won't let anyone send you to the pound."

Hutch stared at the dog and it stared back, amplifying the silence of the small apartment. "Right. Well," Hutch began as he moved to the kitchen, "You've been fed a hot dinner and walked around the block, I say it's time for us to call it a night."

The dog trailed behind Hutch as the blonde finished cleaning up from their meal, somehow managing to always stay one step behind despite Hutch's erratic movements. It was almost like having Starsky hovering behind him, except the dog was as silent whereas Starsky was talkative. Hutch decided that the former was a nice change of pace.

After quickly checking the security of the apartment, still with the dog at his heels, Hutch retreated to his bedroom and smiled as he passed the pile of camping gear piled by the door. "I think I have an old blanket in here somewhere," he started, opening the closet door and peering up to the dark shelves.

The dog sighed and sat on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Well you didn't think you were going to sleep with _me_, did you?" Hutch found the patchwork quilt he was searching for and pulled it down. He turned around to find the dog looking at him quizzically. "Great, now I'm asking the dog questions. Wait till Starsky finds out."

The dog snorted.

Hutch sighed, wondering when _he_ had become the immature one, the one who talked to himself out loud and owned pets. "At least I don't keep rocks for pets," Hutch mumbled as he set the quilt on the floor, unfolding it just enough to accommodate the dog.

"Well, there you go," Hutch said and belatedly realized that he was _still_ talking to the dog. He hung the holstered gun in it's place, striped off his shirt and pants, then brushed his hand over the light switch. The apartment was pitched into darkness, save for the street lamp's glow that peeked around the drawn shades.

The dog's eyes caught the soft glow and reflected green and yellow as it watched Hutch lay on the bed.

"Goodnight, Gordo," Hutch said into the darkness, to the green orbs watching from the blackness.

The dog whined softly, the air whistling through it's throat as it moved to the quilt on the floor.

Hutch's own eyes reflected in the dark as he watched the lean form flop down with a grunt. "Hey, it's better than where you were last night. I don't want to hear any complaints. Just go to sleep down there like a good boy."

Hutch thought he saw the dog's tail thump in response. Then the dog sighed loudly, seemingly content, and Hutch did the same, smiling before slipping into a peaceful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_"A really companionable and indispensable dog is an accident of nature. You can't get it by breeding for it, and you can't buy it with money. It just happens along." _

_-E B White _

"…Ooh, you make my motor run, my motor run, got it comin' off o' the line, Sharona…"

Starsky shifted the Torino to park and turned off the ignition. He got out, cast a sad look to Hutch's old-dog of a vehicle and shook his head, then jogged up the steps of Venice Place. "A man and his car is suppose to be a beautiful thing," Starsky muttered as he made his way to his partner's apartment.

His camera bounced against his chest as he climbed the stairs. They were going to be staying in the Topanga State Park and Starsky had heard of the breath-taking views the mountain provided. If this trip was suppose to be relaxing, then Starsky would unleash a little artistic imagination and see exactly what kind of images he could capture.

"M-m-m-my Sharona…" Starsky came to a stop in front of Hutch's apartment door, purposely singing the song that Hutch found so irritating just loud enough to carry through the closed door. "Knock knock," he called, retrieving the spare key and letting himself into his partner's apartment.

Starsky stopped in his tracks, his feet frozen to the carpet's seam in the doorway. "Hutch?" he called into the still apartment. Something was not right, and Starsky's hand hovered over his gun.

There was no sound in the apartment and Starsky took a step forward, his blue eyes scanning the room for a sign of life. A feeling was burning in his gut, brought on by the unnatural quietness of the apartment. The camping supplies were in a neat pile by the door, encouraging Starsky that his partner had at least made it that far, and the dark-haired detective stepped further into the room. There was no way that Hutch would have simply 'forgotten' about their vacation, so the fact that the blonde was no where to be seen deeply unsettled Starsky.

"Hey Hutch," he called a little louder as he moved to the bedroom.

There was a grumbling so low that at first, Starsky thought it was thunder. He looked into the bedroom, hand on his gun, and relaxed when he found his partner sleeping peacefully on the bed but was overrun with a whole new fear as the shaggy brown dog curled it's lips at Starsky's intrusion.

"Hey, easy there boy," Starsky found himself murmuring. His hand had also appeared before him in an appeasing gesture as he attempted to calm the aggressive animal laying at Hutch's side.

A feeling of déjà vu crept over Starsky as the dog trained it's cold gaze on him. "Uh, Hutch," he called, pitching his voice to the unconscious form on the bed. "Now would be a really great time to wake up and call off your dog…"

Starsky must have sounded a little more fearful than he intended to, for Hutch jumped as if electrocuted and scrambled to right himself amongst the tangled sheets. "Starsk…" the voice was rough, still sleep-laden as he swallowed and blinked furiously. "What are you doing here?"

The dog, surprised by it's bedmate's quick action, moved to lay with it's front half draped over Hutch's lap. It's ears were pinned flat against the sides of it's head as it squinted up at the blond detective.

Starsky found himself pointing at the now-sane animal and his bare-chested partner. "That…_animal_ was growling at me!"

Hutch relaxed, letting his shoulders sag as he rubbed his eyes. "Starsky you scared me half to death. Probably the dog too. Don't you know you're not suppose to sneak up on a sleeping dog?"

Starsky was still standing in the bedroom doorway and decided that it might be safer to stay here. "Let sleeping dog's lie, right? I know Hutch, and I wasn't _trying_ to sneak up on anyone! I wasn't expecting the dog to be here at all, seeing how you told me you were getting rid of him last night." Then he remembered why he was here in the first place. "Do you know what time it is?"

Hutch glanced at the clock by the head of the bed. "Damn it," he cursed under he breath. He steadied the dog as he pulled himself out from under it, then began grabbing pieces of an outfit. "Will you feed him while I get a shower?"

Starsky looked uncertainly at the dog. It seemed harmless enough now. "Uh, I guess."

"Thanks buddy. Give me ten minutes."

With that, Starsky was left alone in his best friend's bedroom with a dog he didn't trust.

"Well, you heard him, let's go." Starsky turned but kept his eyes on the dog, waiting for it to make a move to follow.

It didn't.

"Come on, let's go," Starsky tried again, making his movements more exaggerated.

The dog remained where it was, perched at the foot of the bed, eyes soft and ears perked in interest. Then it whined.

"Aw come on," Starsky pleaded. "Don't cry. I'll get you some really good dog kibble, alright? How's that sound?"

The dog snorted and cocked it's head. It cast an uncertain glance to the closed bathroom door and the steam that seeped out from under it.

"Fine, stay there you mangy mutt," Starsky huffed and turned his back to the confused animal, intent on getting a breakfast of is own.

The muffled thump of four skinny legs hitting the floor sounded behind him and Starsky grinned. "That's more like it," he muttered, leading the dog to the kitchen.

He snatched the small, five pound bag of dog food from the counter and searched the cupboards for a bowl. They had stopped by an open-late convenience store last night, per Hutch's insistence that no, dogs can not eat pizza, and purchased the animal's food.

After pulling down three bowls, Starsky filled one bowl with the brown nuggets and set it on the floor, taking the other bowls to the small kitchen table. "Eat up, mutt," he said, encouraging the wary dog as he grabbed the milk from Hutch's refrigerator. "You're too damn skinny, you know. Winter's commin' and you got a lot of fillin' in to do between now and then."

Starsky grabbed 'his' box of Lucky Charms from it's hiding place behind Hutch's horse feed. He set down with his breakfast, pouring the cereal into one of the empty bowls and the milk into a glass. The dog approached it's bowl wearily, keeping an eye and ear turned towards the brunette as it sniffed the food.

"It's not poison, I swear," Starsky said in exasperation. As the dog began to eat, Starsky set about his task of separating the pink, yellow, orange, green, and blue dehydrated marshmallows from the plain frosted oat shapes. It was a painstaking operation, but the results were well worth the wait.

When the bowl in front of him was nothing more than pure sugar, Starsky added the milk and checked the dog's progress. To his surprise, it was sitting at his side, nose on the table and watery eyes the color of dead leaves studying his movements. The dog food was gone and the bowl licked clean.

"You are fast," he noted and the dog blinked. "Too bad Hutch can't keep you or we may have some serious pig-out contests."

"Did you find the dog food?" Hutch asked, breaking the gentle bond Starsky was beginning to feel.

"Uh, yeah, he wolfed it down. Didn't you feed him last night?" Starsky watched as the dog left his side and rejoined the blond.

"Of course I did Starsky," Hutch replied, giving his head a final rub with the towel. He tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair, and Starsky looked at it for a few moments, reminding himself that this was not his living space and Hutch could 'decorate' however he saw fit.

"Here, I got you breakfast too," Starsky said finally, giving the bowl full of 'boring' Lucky Charms a push towards the space opposite him. He paused as Hutch thanked him and sat down, then asked, "What are you gonna do with the dog? You're not taking it with us camping, are you?"

Although Hutch kept his head down, Starsky could see his partner's blue eyes light up. "We might have to bring him Starsk, he can't stay here."

Starsky took another bite of his marshmallow-soup and suggested, "You could take him to the pound, where he belongs."

"Come on, you know what happens to scrawny mutts like him. He wouldn't even have a chance of being adopted."

"I don't think that's true, Hutch, I used to date a girl that worked-"

"Starsky no. I don't want to send him to a strange place to live the rest of his life behind bars."

Starsky watched Hutch take another spoonful of the cereal, his eyes unfocused and the furrow between his brows deepening in thought. "Why?" Starsky asked softly.

"Why what." It wasn't a question because Hutch already knew the answer.

"Why is this bothering you so much?" Starsky asked, raising his voice. Across the table, the dog's ears perked up.

"I just feel sorry for him Starsk," Hutch replied, letting his free hand rest on the dog's head. "He's all alone, his only friend has died, nobody cares what happens to him. Don't we all feel a little like that sometimes?"

Starsky was quiet then, his gaze studying body language of his best friend, trying to figure out what had brought all this on. Hutch was born and raised in Duluth, Minnesota, fifteen hundred miles and a grotesquely different life style away. Perhaps the shaggy stray reminded Hutch of his own awkwardness when he had been uprooted from his easy-going country life and pitched into the hustle and bustle of California. Had his partner really been in that much emotional pain? Starsky may never know, because Hutch was private like that, but Starsky would do everything in his power to keep that kind of hurt from ever touching his friend again. Even if it meant putting up with a stinking, growling, hairy mess of a dog.

Hutch looked down into his bowl of cereal and suddenly became very still. "What is this?"

Starsky physically shook himself from his reverie and looked at the cereal. "It's cereal."

Hutch's head remained lowered but his gaze turned towards Starsky's bowl. His eyes closed. "Please tell me you didn't."

Starsky thought about how best to reply. He picked up his bowl of liquid tooth-decay and held it out. "Want some?"

There was a soft _clink_ as the spoon hit the bowl and Hutch was out of his seat and dumping the cereal into the trash.

"You know, a little sugar won't hurt ya."

"Just hurry up Starsky, we were suppose to be on the road half an hour ago."

Starsky watched as Hutch moved around the apartment, checking for last-minute provisions and testing the soil of his potted plants for dampness. The dog stayed on step behind throughout all of Hutch's movements, though the blond never acknowledged the presence. It was almost as if the dog already felt it belonged here. As Starsky slurped down the last of his breakfast, Hutch came to a satisfied stop by the pile of camping gear.

"Done?" he asked skeptically as Starsky joined him.

"Hey, that was the last decent breakfast I'll get till Monday!" Starsky defended, grabbing one of the backpacks and half of the tent.

Hutch grabbed what was left and led Starsky into the hallway, maneuvering the awkward tent through the doorway. "Don't come crying to me when your arteries clog," he said, wincing as Starsky kicked the door shut behind them. The dog scrambled to get out of their way.

"My arteries are coated with Teflon."

The two men stumbled through the apartment building's door and stepped into the too-bright morning sunlight, wincing. Hutch made a noise that could have been a grunt or a chuckle. "Teflon," he echoed, shaking his head with amusement.

Once the Torino was successfully loaded down, the detectives took one more look around the street in front of Venice Place Apartments, silently bidding their farewells to the familiar sights and sounds and taking one last opportunity to try and remember any forgotten supplies. Apparently satisfied, Hutch whistled sharply to the dog, who was lifting his leg on a rose bush planted strategically in front of the electric meters.

The dog turned sharply and followed Hutch's cue to jump into the Torino's back seat, or rather, what was left of the back seat aside from the backpacks. Starsky glared at Hutch.

"It's bad enough when you throw trash back there, now I'll have to clean up dog slime too."

The two friends got in the car and the engine roared to life. "Slime just wipes right off of leather, Stark. Trust me."

Starsky huffed as he pushed the car into the flow of traffic. "I do trust you. It's the dog I don't trust."

"Come on, he's not that bad. I saw you talking to him this morning."

"Yeah, oddly enough, he may be the first Hutchison that doesn't mock me."

Hutch fell silent at that and Starsky regretted the sagacious remark. 'Great way to start the weekend,' Starsky grumbled in his head. "Hutch, I didn't mean that…"

"I know," came the quick, but earnest response. There was a pause, as if he might say something more, but Hutch said again, "I know."

The rest of the drive was in lighter spirits. Hutch's spirit seemed to raise with each mile that passed under the Torino's tires. It was a sight that warmed Starsky and made the canine nose in his ear a little less cold. They had each learned long ago that a little discomfort was well worth it if the end result benefited the other. Sacrifices were made. Life moved on.

Starsky wiped the dog snot out of his ear and eyed Hutch. They had grown closer than brothers during the time they had known each other. Neither of them had ever uttered the words before an audience, but the death of one partner would surely lead to the slow destruction of the other. They complimented each other, played off each other, lived through each other and neither Starsky nor Hutch would trade that for the world. Starsky knew what they had was special, running just as deep as any roots of marriage and stronger than the bond of blood.

'Opposites most definitely attract,' he supposed, sparing a final glance at the lean blonde glowing with carefully concealed excitement.

He guided the car around a turn, easing the heavy Torino onto a gravel road. Starsky tried not to think about the dust that was billowing up from the gravel's disturbance, clinging to his beautifully polished car. What was that about sacrifices?

"Great, we didn't loose it," Hutch announced as the campsite came into view.

"Yeah, great," Starsky replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Lighten up Starsk, it'll be great. No noise, no crime, no paperwork…"

Starsky parked the car. "No taco stands, no candy machines…"

Hutch laughed and got out of the car. "Quit your belly-achin' and help me pitch the tent."

Starsky snorted and looked at Hutch, watching as the innocent blond pulled the tent out of the car's back seat. The dog was investigating a bush a few feet away.

"Whatever you say Hutch, whatever you say."

Half an hour and one very frustrated Brooklyn-bred detective later, the canvas tent was standing.

"That blasted thing should come with a warning or instructions or _something_," Starsky complained, plopping himself down on one of many railroad ties that outlined their campsite.

Hutch stood back and placed his hands on his hips, breathing deeply. "It wasn't that hard, Starsk, didn't you ever play with Legos when you were a kid?"

"Yeah except I was always Godzilla and I wrecked the little Lego towns."

Hutch looked at his partner thoughtfully. "That's really sad Starsky."

Starsky grinned evilly but in his head, chewed on the thought that while Starsky spent his childhood running with other children, his Hutch had most likely spent his in his room, playing with his own toys in solitude. Starsky's heart turned heavy and hard so he stood to dispel the feeling. "Is this the part where we scavenge for firewood?"

"Yeah," Hutch replied quietly, his face upturned to the clear sky. "I think it's going to rain later."

Starsky looked up, searching the vast blue sky for the telltale hint that whispered to his friend. "How do you know?"

Hutch's head came down and his gaze settled on the dog as it lay on the ground, chewing a stick. "Just a feeling," he replied nonchalantly. He smiled at the dog and the animal pinned back it's ears, wagged it's tail, then sprang to it's feet and hurried to the blond detective, dropping the mutilated stick as his feet.

"How do you do that?" Starsky asked as they moved into the forest. He watched Hutch toss the stick in front of them, sending the dog bounding through the leaves and fallen timber.

"What?"

"Talk to him."

Hutch smiled to himself, as if he were flattered by the comment, and held his hand out when the dog came leaping back. "Practice, Starsk," he replied. "I didn't live on a farm, you know, but we had plenty of horses and a few dogs. Horses are a nobleman's animal," he added with a hint of distaste, implying that maybe the horses were just his parent's means of flaunting wealth. "Duluth might be a small town, but I usually didn't see very many people, when I was little."

Starsky straightened himself after grabbing a suitable piece of firewood. He kept quiet, smiling to himself when the dog once again crashed through the shrubbery in chase of it's stick. He had a feeling that Hutch's homebody childhood was not of his choosing.

"The animals become your friends," Hutch continued as they continued along the narrow dirt path. "It's more about them teaching you their language then you talking to them. They whisper, when the world is quiet enough. You only have to listen."

Starsky thought about it, not really understanding but trying to look thoughtful for Hutch's sake. Hutch was not one to share emotions easily. Perhaps it was the solitude of the woods and the closeness of their friendship that eased the memories down from his mind and through his voice.

"Starsky?"

"Yeah Hutch."

"Cheer up."

Starsky smiled and took a deep breath, remembering his task at hand. They each had a few pieces of brittle wood in their arms when a darkness caught his attention. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to a dark opening in the side of a steep mountain.

"Looks like a cave," Hutch replied, and Starsky was a little disappointed at the lack of sarcasm that should have laced his friend's response.

"Well let's go," Starsky said, veering off the trail and stomping through the overgrowth of shrubbery.

"Starsky, we can't just go traipsing through there like eleven year-olds. It'll be dark in a while and besides, the clouds-"

"_Traipsing_?" Starsky echoed, spinning to look at Hutch incredulously. "That's malapropism Hutch. We do not _traipse_. We investigate."

"Mala-what?" Hutch repeated, as Starsky started towards the cave again. "Starsky, have you been reading the dictionary again?"

Starsky waved for Hutch to follow as he came to a stop at the cave's entrance. "Come on Hutch, don't make me investigate all by myself."

Starsky knew that Hutch would be staring at the dog now, wanting the animal to second the notion that yes, Starsky was a little kid in a grown man's body. Starsky waited, inching his way into the shadows of the stone cave until finally, Hutch began stomping through the vegetation. Starsky smiled.

"…don't know why I go along with you and your harebrained ideas…" Hutch mumbled, stopping at Starsky's side. The dog joined them.

Starsky grinned and rested an arm on Hutch's shoulder. "Come on, it'll be fun." They stared into the cool darkness. "Trust me."

"Do you remember what happened last time I trusted you?" Hutch huffed. "I wound up with a black eye and you couldn't show your face in Huggy's for a month."

Starsky thought about that. "Well, don't count that time. Besides, that wasn't all my fault."

Hutch glared at him and Starsky felt a shiver. He blamed it on the shadows carried from the cave's draft. The dog whined.

"Well I'm going in."

Hutch sighed. "We don't even have any light, how are we going to see anything-"

Starsky pulled the little Mag-Lite from his back pocket and turned it on, piercing the darkness. Long shadows scattered onto the walls of the cave like cockroaches running from the light. He started in, stepping attentively over the loose soil floor. The cave wasn't that wide, maybe the size of his bedroom but burrowing deep into the side of the mountain. A chill crawled up the leg of his jeans and wriggled over his body, causing him to shudder and the light to quiver.

"You're not scared are you?" Hutch asked, and the sarcasm was back in his voice.

"No I'm not scared," Starsky denied, taking another, more deliberate step forward. The sunlight was not even so bold as to travel this far into the cave. Starsky searched the dirt floor for animal tracks, or more specifically, bear tracks.

"Come on, it's not like there's going to be a wanted criminal around the corner," Hutch goaded, taking the flashlight from Starsky and moving past the brunet into the cave.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Starsky murmured. Bad guys, he could deal with. Large animals with canine teeth and a taste for fresh meat, he could not. The dog trotted after Hutch, hitting Starsky on the leg with it's tail as it went past.

"How would you know," Starsky spoke louder, hesitantly moving fast to keep up with his determined partner. "I didn't think there were caves in Duluth. There's certainly not anything else interesting out there."

"Oh and I suppose as a boy, you spent most of _your_ time wandering the complex caves of New York?"

Starsky walked past a pile of something dark and slick, then hurried to catch up with Hutch. "Do you think there's any animals in here?"

"Just you, Starsk."

"Well aren't you just full of 'em today."

"I try."

Starsky stepped delicately, his eyes glued to the ground for clues of an animal's presence. "Shouldn't we have those dorky-looking helmets on or something?" he asked, then yelped when he ran into Hutch. "What-" Hutch stood still, but not tense, so Starsky let his worry abate a little as he looked at what had his partner so transfixed.

The cave opened up before them, creating a massive stone room with a ceiling that must have arced in excess of 30 feet. Nature had been kind enough to bless the cave with a natural skylight that filtered in sunlight from the outside world. Ugly stalagmites and stalactites grew out of the stone, the knobby fingers contradicting where the other was pointing. The cave itself was made of jagged rock, suggesting that the cave had been created rock by rock instead of being carved hollow like a jack-o-lantern. The air was musty and thick. Starsky briefly wondered what happened to the last being that had breathed the stagnant atmosphere.

"Sure is an ugly cave, isn't it?"

Starsky's voice echoed through the subterrane and floated out the skylight. Hutch's shoulder's slumped.

"You always make the most of the moment, Starsky."

Starsky moved to stand underneath the hole in the cave's ceiling. "I try." The sun wasn't as bright as is had been when the left the campsite. Maybe Hutch was right about the rain.

"Hey- what are you doing?"

Starsky dropped his gaze and blinked the green tint from his eyes as he looked to Hutch. The dog had it's jaws clamped solidly on the loose fabric of Hutch's sleeve and was not-so-gently tugging the blond back in the direction they had come from. The beam from the flashlight ricocheted off the cave's broken walls.

"What's he doing?" Starsky asked as Hutch fought fruitlessly with the insistent mutt.

"How should I know?" Hutch snapped, yanking his sleeve out of the dog's grasp with an audible rip.

"Leave it to you to get the crazy one," Starsky teased. "Sure you don't wanna dump him off at the pound?" Starsky wandered over to the closest rock wall. Maybe he could find an Indian painting. At least then this outing would be exciting.

There was a novel sound in Hutch's voice when he replied, "I-I think we should go."

Starsky's blood ran cold. "What's wrong?"

Honest to God fear lit in Hutch's eyes as their gazes locked. The dog sat unmoving at Hutch's side, it's eyes cold and demonic. "I don't know, I just got this feeling that-"

Hutch never finished his sentence. The ground began to tremble as if the earth let loose a sneeze from it's very core. Rock fell from the ceiling and thudded to the ground with enough impact to cause their own tremors rippling across the ground. Dust billowed up from the floor, effectively choking Starsky and blotting out the sunlight. There was nowhere to take cover. Starsky pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose and ducked, cringing as a large stalactite severed from the ceiling and crashed to the ground, breaking in half upon the sudden impact. '_Earthquake_!' his mind screamed- or maybe it had been out loud- as he lost his footing and fell to the dirt. He could barley make out Hutch's form on the other side of the cave, sitting against the wall with his head on his knees in an effort to protect himself. All around them boulders fell, stirring up the dirt so that the air was so thick you could hold it in your hand. Cracking stone and a rumble deeper than any roll of thunder reached a climax in his ears. He wanted to get to his partner, his body ached to, but crossing the cave now would prove fatal.

The last thing Starsky remembered was a piercing cry ringing above the chaos of destruction, then his world imploded with choking blackness.


	4. Chapter 4

_"The disposition of noble dogs is to be gentle with people they know and the opposite with those they don't know... How, then, can the dog be anything other than a lover of learning since it defines what is its own and what's alien." _

_Plato _

David Starsky was very familiar with the process of returning to consciousness. First everything was black and peaceful. You floated inside your own head for a while, like a jellyfish suspended in the ocean. There may be voices, depending on where you were and if anyone had found you. Starsky always relaxed when he heard Hutch's voice. He didn't hear that now.

Next, came the pain. Memories. Awareness.

Starsky groaned, then winced as his own voice bounced around his skull with the grace of a dropped bowling ball. He was cold. His sore muscles trembled as his body fought for heat. His arm was throbbing with an agonizing force. His head felt like Captain Dobey sat on it.

Starsky blinked his eyes open and panicked as darkness enveloped him still. Had he been knocked on the head with enough force to blind him? With the frightening thought of prematurely retiring from the force due to a handicap earned from camping, he struggled to get up. His hands sank into something sandy and pliable before a bolt of fire raced up his left arm.

'The cave' he remembered, cradling his arm on his lap and rocking in time with the throbbing pain. 'Earthquake. Falling rocks. Hutch.'

"Hutch?" Starsky called out. The darkness was lifting and Starsky tried to illustrate his relief with a smile. He could now make out shapes, though the clouded air rendered him with an uneasy feeling. There was no reply, or if there was, it was concealed by the hoarse coughing fit that suddenly wracked Starsky.

When he could breathe again, his eyes had watered enough to clear them of the dust and he could now see weak sunlight valiantly stabbing it's way through the rock wall behind him. The rocks had crumbled all around him, some on him, and created a tiny pocket of space. 'Cage', Starsky corrected himself grimly. He would kill whose-ever idea this was.

"Hutch!"

A whimper filtered through the rocks from his side opposite the sunlight. Starsky swallowed. If that pathetic sound was from Hutch, they were all in deep trouble. "Gordo?" he called, feeling silly despite the dire circumstances.

A bark shattered the eerie silence, causing a shimmering sprinkling of dust to fall and Starsky breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't alone. Then he realized that he was in fact, still missing Hutch. "Now would be a good time for you to come around," Starsky called, pushing his voice to make it sound light-hearted. It was hard.

Starsky's blood pressure rose with every second that Hutch did not respond. What if he was hurt badly? What if he were dead?

As soon as the thought blossomed in his head, Starsky began to dig single-handedly. He had to get to his partner- his _best friend_. His left arm was clearly broken, as he noticed with a strange disembodiment. It didn't hurt very much at the moment, although the bone was very close to poking through the flesh of his forearm. Adrenaline was a lovely thing.

Starsky began pulling the rocks down one by one, wincing and swearing as a wrong choice sent several stones crashing near his knees. There was not enough room to stand up- to hardly move at all- and un-stacking the heavy stones was proving to be a challenge. There was no choice but to keep going, for the sake of both their lives. And maybe the dog's.

"Starsky?"

The weak shadow of Hutch's voice grabbed Starsky's attention mid-pull. "Hutch?" he responded, letting go of the rock and moving his ear to the wall dividing them. "Are you alright?"

There was a cough. "Yeah, I'm alive."

Starsky rolled his eyes. "That wasn't the question Blintz."

Hutch groaned, and from the sound of it, eighty percent was out of irritation. Yes, Starsky knew his partner _that_ well.

"My leg hurts," came the soft admission. There was silence, then a small yelp. "I think it's broken. You?"

"Um…" Starsky started, looking at the sharp lump under the skin on his forearm. "I think you may have to type up the reports for a while."

"Didn't I get you a self-help book for left-handers?"

"I sold it."

There was a small chuckle and Starsky smiled at the strained sound. "I bet you did, Starsk."

Starsky sat back what little amount he could and let his gaze wander over the wall he had been working at. His miniscule progress was spotlighted by the thin ray of sunlight shining between the rocks behind him. "I can see light. I'm going to get you free then we're going to get out of here and get help."

"Don't bring the place down on yourself," Hutch warned. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I'm getting us out of here," Starsky smiled, grabbing another rock and pushing it aside. "I think those ugly stalagmite-thingies stopped the ceiling from squishing us like grapes."

"Starsky, that's disgusting."

"I don't like grapes."

In the following beat of silence, Starsky knew Hutch was rolling his eyes. "How's the dog?" he asked in an attempt to take his mind off the pain that was growing behind his eyes again.

"I think he's alright, he's licking my hand."

"You'll get worms," Starsky warned, recalling the one bit of veterinary advice he knew. His arm was beginning to throb violently now, beating a matching pace with his temple. However, his hopes grew when he moved a rock and created a hole large enough for his hand to fit through. Now they were getting somewhere.

"I don't intend on drinking his slobber, even if I did think he had worms. Which he doesn't."

"He might."

"Why don't you just get us out of here."

Another large stone fell to the ground, widening the opening. "I'm working on it," Starsky replied, his voice hopeful. "You could help you know."

There was a pause just long enough for Starsky to get scared. Then, "Yeah. Okay."

"You sure you're okay?" Starsky questioned. His small space was quickly filling with discarded rocks.

"Just dandy."

"Why do I not believe you?" Starsky grumbled. The opening was widening faster now that he had Hutch's help, but progress was still not as fast as he would have liked.

At last, nearly ten minutes later and his hands rough and bleeding with scrapes, they had created an opening large enough to pass through. The air was thick with floating dust once again and Starsky knew that it was weighing down his curls, ruining his good looks. He would appreciate a shower when they were out of this mess.

He smiled upon seeing his partner alive and panting in front of him. A fairly deep cut was slowly oozing shiny, dark blood down Hutch's left cheek. His left arm hung limply at his side and, as already known, Hutch's right leg appeared to be broken.

"You look horrible."

Hutch's eyes flashed momentarily as he huffed. "Same to you, Gordo."

Starsky's gaze fell to the four-legged audience, then lifted again. "You talkin' to me or him?" he asked, because sometimes, he did learn his lesson.

Hutch chuckled. "You, turkey."

Starsky pretended to be hurt so that some sort of normalcy would be felt. "If anyone's a turkey, it's you for getting me into this mess."

"Getting _you_ into this?" Hutch retorted. "You're saying that I dragged you into this God-forsaken cave then ordered an earthquake to hit? Is it getting darker in here?"

Starsky took a moment to switch thought-trains with his partner. He looked around the small area of precariously stacked rock. The delicate light that had been shinning from behind had seemed to have dimmed. He looked questioningly at Hutch.

"Storm," Hutch supplied, his face reminiscent of all the other times he hated to be right. "We better move fast."

Starsky looked down at his injured arm.

"Well, as fast a possible."

The dog cried. It lay against Hutch's injured leg in the Sphinx position. With shiny orange eyes it dared Starsky cause his blond human further pain.

That was one request Starsky would gladly grant the canine. "Seems like you got yourself a guard dog," he said.

Hutch lay his hand on the dog's rump. "Shall I tell him the position's already taken?"

Starsky smiled and shook his head, turning around to face the wall of rock, their only hindrance to the outside world. To freedom.

To a hospital.

As soon as he grabbed his first stone and freed it from the pile, Hutch was beside him. They worked in silence for a few minutes, Starsky watching Hutch out of the corner of his eye. Hutch's left arm was still hanging at his side, unmoving. If it was broken, they would match.

"What happened to you arm?" Starsky inquired, trying to sound nonchalant.

They continued pulling stones single-handedly as Hutch answered- as equally nonchalant, "My shoulder's dislocated."

"_What_?" Starsky dropped the rock from his right hand and spun to face Hutch, the movement grinding his broken radius and ulna together under the skin. He grimaced to purposely make Hutch feel guilty. "Hutch, when I asked if you were hurt, I meant like, _anywhere_."

"You couldn't have done anything," Hutch shrugged, continuing to disassemble the wall. "Besides, it's numb right now."

"But still, I-"

"Just dig," Hutch commanded gently. "I don't wanna be stuck in the rain."

Starsky shot Hutch his best 'You're-playing-the-hero-and-I-hate-it' look, but his efforts went unnoticed save for the dog. The dog merely gave Starsky a look that said 'You'd better just do as he says.'

"If it's any consolation," Hutch started, and Starsky thought maybe Hutch _did_ feel guilty, "I'm going to let you put it back in place once we're out of here."

"_Me_?" Starsky exclaimed, although he kept enough composure to keep digging, "Why me?"

"Because in a little while it will start to hurt and external rotation is the quickest and easiest way to fix it."

"External what?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll tell you what to do when the time comes. How's your arm?"

"Broken."

"Hurt much?"

"Like hell."

Hutch smiled sadly. "I am sorry that I drug you away from TV and cars and women to get buried in a cave with me."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It was my pleasure." Then because he couldn't resist, Starsky added, "I owe you one."

They continued digging in companionable silence.


	5. Chapter 5

"_I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren't certain we knew better. They fight for honor at the first challenge, make love with no moral restraint, and they do not for all their marvelous instincts appear to know about death. But being such wonderfully uncomplicated beings, they need us to do their worrying."_

_George Evans_

"Did I ever tell you how much I hate the rain?"

"No, Starsk, I don't think you've mentioned it for the past forty five seconds."

"I hate the rain."

Starsky stood next to Hutch on the line separating rock and forest. He was supporting his taller partner to lesson the trauma to Hutch's broken leg, and Hutch in turn was leaning against him. It felt good.

It had taken Starsky and Hutch almost an hour to strategically remove the stones without causing the whole thing to collapse on them, and since there were only two hands between the both of them. Once daylight had finally broken through and they could escape their stone prison, Starsky had swore he was never going to play Jenga again.

Hutch agreed.

It had already begun drizzling by the time the detectives pushed aside the last large rock. They stood in the dim sunlight as the drizzle started to spot their clothes. The fresh air felt wonderful, even if it was cool and wet. Anything beat being trapped in that claustrophobic, dilapidated cave.

The dog brushed past Starsky and immediately relieved itself on a nearby bush. Hutch chuckled and the motion was felt by Starsky. "Guess he had to go."

Now in the daylight- or what little of it they had in the overcast weather- Starsky could see his partner's injuries more clearly. Fresh rain water was mixing with the dried and clotting blood on Hutch's face, causing the blood to thin and drip from his jaw to his shirt. He leaned on Starsky to avoid setting down his right leg. His jeans were not torn and there was no blood, so Starsky hoped that the break had been clean. Hutch's left arm dangled at his side while his right one was slung over Starsky's shoulders. Starsky's own injured arm was cradled between their bodies, and throbbing in competition with his head.

Starsky found himself looking into Hutch's concerned blue eyes. "You alright?" Hutch asked. "You look awful."

Starsky snorted. "Thanks partner, so do you."

Hutch started to move awkwardly, like he wanted to touch Starsky's throbbing temple, but the motion was currently impossible. "That's a big lump on your head. How's your vision?"

"It's fine."

"How many of me do you see?"

Starsky patted the hand that lay on his shoulder. "There will always be just one of you."

"Starsk, that was really…" Hutch searched for words and when he found them, looked like he would vomit. "Romantic. Knock it off."

"What? I-"

"Please. Just, quit." Hutch squinted towards the sky. "We gotta get a move on. Help me sit down and you can put my shoulder back in position."

Starsky fought against his partner's pull. "Wait a minute, are you sure I can do this?"

"It's easy. You won't feel a thing." Hutch sagged against him, forcing Starsky to ease his friend to the ground. "Just do what I tell you, alright?"

"Don't I always?" Starsky grinned his patented grin and helped Hutch lay on his back. The rain and blood now ran down Hutch's swollen cheek, dripping off his ear into the mud. "You need stitches," he announced.

"We both need a lot of things right now, just do this so we can go," Hutch blinked up at him, his blue eyes watering with what Starsky hoped were raindrops.

"What do I do?"

"Three steps, okay? And no matter what I do, don't stop, got it?"

That worried Starsky. "Got it."

The dog took notice of his guardian's position and hurried to Hutch's side. It plopped on the ground, pressed against Hutch with it's head the blond's chest. Then he stared at Starsky.

"Okay, turn my arm palm-up," Hutch said, keeping his gaze locked on the dog's furry head.

Simple enough. Starsky turned the limp arm and noticed as Hutch flinched. A part of him hurt too. The dog looked very nervous.

"Okay," Hutch ground out. "Bend it ninety degrees at the elbow."

Starsky obeyed, although his arm shook with refusal when the movement elicited a grimace from Hutch.

"Now push my hand to the ground, away from me. Slowly."

Starsky cringed at the phantom pain in his own shoulder. The stress was causing his headache to worsen and he could think of nothing better right now than a long nap in his own bed, away from all this. He began lowering Hutch's cold hand. The blond's eyes were closed now and his face was close to the dog's shoulder, turned away from Starsky. The dog studied Starsky's movements as if this were something they had practiced on together for a long time, and this was the first time Starsky were on his own.

Before Hutch's knuckles touched the mud, there was an audible _pop_ and Starsky gasped and jumped back, shaking the sensation from his hand.

Either Hutch or the dog or both had whimpered. "Thanks," Hutch panted as he finally turned to look at Starsky. "You did great."

"Hey, glad to be of service." Starsky swallowed hard, sure that he would never forget that feeling of Hutch's shoulder sliding back into joint. His own arm was chilled from the rain and driving the ache deep in his bones. "What do you say we get out of here now?"

"Sounds like a plan, partner. Help me up."

Hutch rocked his torso upwards in an attempt to sit up. The dog scrambled to get out of the way as Starsky pulled his friend to his feet. Hutch hopped a bit as he fought to stay off his broken leg and Starsky steadied him. "Why do I always wind up hauling your carcass all over the place?" he joked as they started forward. He needed to lighten the mood after what he had just done.

"As I recall, there are plenty of times I had to help you."

"Well yeah, but you're taller than me, so I have to work harder. Counts as twice."

"Who made up that rule?"

Starsky steadied Hutch as they picked their way through the shrubbery. "I did."

Hutch shook his head as he struggled to carry his own weight. "You can't make up your own rules to this partnership."

"When it's in _your_ best interest I can," Starsky said, wincing as he jostled his broken arm. The pain behind his eyes was starting to make him dizzy and soon he was leaning on Hutch. "You do know where we're going, right?" Starsky swallowed thickly.

"Sure. We're looking for the trail. Are you okay?"

"I'd be a lot better without this headache," Starsky answered honestly.

"Do you wanna sit down?"

Starsky looked at his soaking partner and knew he must look just as bad. The sporadic raindrops did nothing for his mood, or his aches. "We better keep going, to get out of the rain." As unappealing as the thought was right now, continuing their trek would get them to safety that much faster.

"Alright, I think I see the trail up ahead. I'm lucky I didn't let you wander too far off course."

"Yeah." Starsky took a deep breath, hoping to chase away the fog that was creeping into his peripheral vision. He would be no good to Hutch unconscious.

"You're agreeing with me?" Hutch asked incredulously. "Maybe you had better sit down. How many fingers do you see?"

Starsky pushed away the seven-fingered hand. "I'm fine Hutch." He only had to put one foot in front of the other. "Just find the trail and get us back."

The dog was ambling along in front of them, his ears turning back and forth to catch their voices as they spoke. His pace was slow and steady, as if he was accommodating their collaborative progress and at the same time, understanding their destination and the importance of reaching it. Starsky thought that little Gordo might be the smartest dog he'd ever met. The dog had certainly taken a liking to Hutch, but then again, a lot of people did. Even the bad ones.

After an immeasurable amount of time of limping, cursing, tripping and almost falling, Hutch's ugly green tent came into view. It was the most beautiful thing Starsky had ever seen. Well, at least today.

Hutch let out an amused chuckle. "Would ya look at that, it still stands."

"Of course it's still standing, I helped put it up," Starsky replied, shifting under Hutch's increasing weight. With any luck, they would make it to the Torino before Hutch gave out completely.

The dog trotted to the tent and sniffed the perimeter, it's tail held high. When it had circled around to the tent's opening, it froze on point. Starsky watched the hair down the center of it's back rise.

"Uh, Hutch, is it suppose to do that?"

Hutch looked in the direction of Starsky's pointing hand. The dog's lips were raised now, displaying very white and pointed canine teeth. A low growl rumbled from it's chest.

"We got company," Hutch whispered.

"What is it?"

"How should I know- wait. Please tell me you zipped up the tent after you put the cooler inside."

"Uh…"

"Starsky…" Hutch whined. He shifted his weight. "You'd think you've never been camping before."

"What'd I do?"

A second noise rumbled from the tent, this one louder and more menacing. Something big brushed against the fabric, making it bulge for a moment. The detectives stood transfixed as a long dark snout pushed through the tent's opening. The wet, black nose twitched, sniffing the air. The dog snapped his jaws with a click and backed up a step, his head hung low but his eyes defiant.

Hutch hobbled on his good leg, his grip on Starsky tightening. "We should get out of here."

The black bear's massive head came through the tent's opening as it growled at the lightweight dog. A paw the size of a dinner plate soon followed, thumping the wet ground as it stepped out of the tent. Starsky watched as the dog's eyes grew as big as his own and for a second, no one moved.

Starsky had never seen a _real_ bear before and he decided immediately that he never wanted to again. The wild animal must have weighed 500 pounds. It's thick fur and blubber undulated as it moved. It stood almost four feet tall at the shoulder, on all fours. Starsky was afraid to see the animal stand at full height on it's back feet. While it probably wasn't the world's largest bear, it certainly belittled the scrawny dog something terrible. They were no match in any universe.

"What do we do?" Starsky whispered, his vocal chords having decided to hide in his stomach.

"Don't run," Hutch replied absently. His gaze remained fixed on the confrontation before them. Starsky noticed the lines of worry and pain on his partner's forehead.

"Okay." Starsky couldn't breathe at the moment, let alone _run_.

That still left the all-important question of what _to_ do. Climb a tree? No, bears can climb trees too, and besides, Hutch would never make it with his broken leg. Running was out; they probably wouldn't be able to outrun the bear anyway, even if they weren't injured. What option did that leave? Trying to befriend the beast? Waltzing up to it and asking if it would like a belly rub?

The bear emerged from the tent, snorting and groaning and making all sorts of noises, unaware of it's human audience. The dog backed up carefully, being sure to keep out of striking distance at all times. It looked to Starsky and Hutch. Starsky shrugged and held an index finger in front of his lips. Maybe if the dog kept quiet, the bear would lose interest- or at least not think of the dog as a threat.

The bear sniffed the air. Seemingly unworried about the dog now, the it continued to rummage around the tent. It over turned some supplies, scooted some equipment through the mud with it's nose, and pawed at a zipped backpack. Starsky realized he wasn't breathing and took a deep breath through his nose, expanding his lungs so much they burned. Hutch never moved.

Starsky watched as the bear seemed to lose it's intensity in the search for food. Maybe the bear was full? Starsky dared to hope that they would escape unmarked. They had gotten luck in the cave-in, now they were pressing their luck again. Would the bear really leave without ever seeing them? The dog took a cautious step closer as the bear began wandering away. A smile spread over Starsky's face despite the rain and dropping temperature. He had survived his first encounter with a bear!

A small breeze blew at his back and Starsky felt Hutch shiver. The bear's head snapped up.

"Oh shit."

Starsky didn't know who had said it, and it really didn't matter. The bear worked it's nose, stretching it's neck and reaching high into the air, cataloguing all the scents that were lingering there. It's massive head swung around and burning amber eyes looked directly at Starsky. He had never felt so naked.

The animal bellowed, bearing fangs larger than any Starsky had ever had nightmares of. His stomach folded in on itself and his whole being _ached_ with a paralyzing fear. The rest of the world seemed to drop away and Starsky understood what a true phobia was. 'This is the end. I'm going to die.'

"…still, Starsk, just don't move. He'll go away."

Hutch was talking, using that soothing voice that had always calmed people before, but Starsky's muscles refused to unclench. He was staring his death right in the eyes and couldn't move. He barely realized his strong grip on Hutch was tightening further with every slow, dramatic, echoing step the bear took. The bear stretched it's neck and bellowed again, it's loud voice carrying through the forest and spurring the birds into flight. Starsky could smell it's rotten breath and musty pelt.

The monstrous animal was merely fifteen feet away when the dog made his presence known. It trotted up behind the bear, barking so furiously that frothy drops of spit flew into the air, then he darted forward and actually nipped the bear's heel before scurrying away.

Starsky blinked.

The bear turned instantly and it's hide rippled with the sudden movement. Giant paws slapped the ground as it charged the dog. Mud splattered and water dripped from the animal's black fur. The dog tucked it's tail and ran, evading the long and pointed claws that swiped at it.

Hutch swallowed audibly as one does when a trance is broken. "Now would be a good time to run," he breathed.

Starsky flinched then pulled his shoes from the thick mud beneath his feet. The partners turned awkwardly, arms intertwined and their movements made clumsy with dire haste. Hutch hopped alongside Starsky as they moved away from the angry noises at the campsite and into the thick forest.

"Where are we going?" Starsky panted, fighting to keep his partner upright.

"We'll circle around and get back to the car. Just keep moving, and don't look back."

There was a sharp yelp from the dog and Hutch stumbled, seemingly not wanting to heed his own orders. "Come on," Starsky encouraged as Hutch clung to him. "Don't stop. I don't wanna be bear food."

The sounds of the fight dulled with each frantic step they took. "Gordo doesn't deserve to be bear food either," Hutch said, pulling against Starsky as he tried to stop.

Starsky gave Hutch a gentle pull. "He made a choice," Starsky replied, and navigated them over a fallen tree. "He did it for us." 'For you,' Starsky added silently. "Don't let his death be in vain," he said quietly.

Starsky felt Hutch breathe deeper, but whether it was from sadness or exertion, he didn't want to know. He continued using a little extra force whenever Hutch would try to turn back, softly murmuring encouragement. Really, what kind of condolences do you offer when a dog dies?

The sky had drawn darker now and the shadows were stretching to join the night. The bear's angry cries were out of range now. Starsky felt a slight remorse for the shaggy dog who had given it's life for the detectives. Hutch would be depressed for a while, with good reason, and trying to cheer up the blond was never an easy task. Starsky marveled how in such a short time, Gordo had become special to Hutch, had become a true companion. The dog seemed to have chosen Hutch as it's leader- it's protector, and Hutch played the part well. Another dog probably wouldn't have traded it's life for theirs- for Hutch.

At that moment, the blond interrupted Starsky's musing. "Slow down," Hutch gasped. "I think we're safe." When they stumbled to a stop, Hutch doubled over and struggled for breath.

Starsky's head failed to take notice that his body had stopped moving. His vision swirled around him and Starsky tilted to the side, worrying for himself as much as his friend. "We can't be very far from the car," he said, swallowing and pushing his sickness aside. He righted himself against Hutch. "Think you can make it?"

"I'm fine," Hutch replied flippantly. His breathing was beginning to even out. "Just great."

Starsky squinted and tried to figure out which of the double visions was the real Hutch. "How's the leg?"

"How's your head?"

Starsky shrugged. "Just great."

"I'm over here."

Starsky blinked and focused on the Hutch closest to him. The blond was soaking wet and wincing, but the cut on his cheek seemed to have finally stopped bleeding. The heavy, wet denim hung low on Hutch's lean frame, making his partner seem all the more fragile. Starsky blinked away the multiplying images. Hutch was breathing normally now, if just a little hard. "Ready to move again?"

Hutch nodded and reached for Starsky. "Let's go."

Together, arm in arm, they trudged forward. All their effort and pain and loss would pay off once they reached the Torino. It was their savior- their freedom, and it waited patiently and faithfully only a quarter of a mile away.

Their nightmare was almost over.


	6. Chapter 6

_"The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. . . He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. . . When all other friends desert, he remains." _

_George G Vest _

"Oh _NO_!"

Hutch was silent. Then, "I'm really sorry Starsk."

Starsky made a pathetic noise somewhere between a whimper and a sob. "My car…"

Hutch coughed. "It'll be okay."

"Okay?!" Starsky screeched. Later, he would be embarrassed. "Look at it Hutch, there's a _TREE_ squishing my car! It's gone! Useless! Flattened! Thinner than a pancake!" Starsky had to stop and breathe before he made himself pass out.

The two detectives stood before the remains of the Torino. Indeed, a very large, dead tree had fallen at some point during the earthquake and was now laying heavily over the flashy red mass of twisted metal. Shattered glass lay on the ground, glittering in the dull sunlight. The roof of the car now rested on the floorboards. It was truly a very sad sight.

Starsky wished he could fall to his knees and mourn, but he was currently the only thing holding Hutch upright. He brought them closer to the car so he could reach out and touch her lifeless body. "This is the worst camping trip _ever_. You lose your dog to a giant bear, and I lose my car to unprocessed toilet paper."

"Starsky, I bet Merle will be able to fix it right up. You'll see."

Starsky ran a hand over his wet, dirty face. His headache had increased tenfold. "No Hutch, I don't think this is the kind of thing you can 'fix right up'."

He turned to find Hutch staring at him with concern radiating in those deep blue eyes. Starsky took a deep breath. "Well what are we gonna do? It's obviously not gonna carry us out of here, and the radio is damaged. Even if I could squeeze my hand in there, I doubt I could fix it."

Hutch hopped on one leg. "Well then, we walk."

Starsky stared at him. A torrent of objections flooded through his brain and clogged his throat. "Walk?! Hutch, look at us, you're lucky you can even stand, and I can't tell which of the three of you is really _you_. It's raining, not to mention my arm is broken, and there's always the possibility of an aftershock-"

"Well what do you want to do Starsky, sit here and wait for someone to find us?"

Starsky shut his mouth as he realized Hutch had just snapped at him. "Of course not… it's just… do you even know where to go?"

Hutch rubbed his temple. "There's a ranger station a few miles north of here. I saw it on the brochure."

Starsky wiped a raindrop from his nose. "We don't have a compass."

Hutch sighed. "The sun," he hinted with a pointed finger.

"Oh."

They were both quiet for a moment as the severity of the situation set in. 'A few miles' would be slow going in their current conditions. They were already soaked to the bone, injured, and weary. Starsky silently cursed the deity in charge of the California weather.

Hutch pulled away from him. "We need to get your arm in a sling," he said, stripping off his shirt before Starsky was fully aware of his intentions.

Starsky's jaw dropped when Hutch's black and deep-purple shoulder was revealed. "Good God Hutch, your shoulder looks terrible."

Hutch spared it a glance before looking at Starsky. "Doesn't hurt so much anymore." He turned his attention to the damp fabric in his hand.

"It's fine Hutch, don't-"

The sound of ripping fabric halted his protests. Hutch glanced at him.

"Or, you know, go ahead. Whatever."

"You can't keep walking around like that. The bones will grind together and splinter."

Starsky winced. "Well what about you?"

Hutch tied the fabric in a hard knot. "I'll be fine. The bones in you leg are thicker."

Starsky let the sling be placed over his head. He searched Hutch's eyes for signs of false information. "Are you serious, or is this like the time you told me that your friend got a sore throat after eating at Taco Bell and the doctor found roach larvae eating her from the inside out?"

The corner of Hutch's mouth twitched. "I'm serious Starsky, I'll be fine." He gave the sling one last adjustment. "Let's go."

Starsky took one last look at his demolished car. With a heavy heart, he bid her farewell. As they passed by, he trailed his fingers off the bumper made slick with rain. Then, with a sigh, he straightened and squared his shoulders. It would take both of them to escape this without further harm, and if anyone should be in mourning, it should be Hutch. The dog had brought about a side of his partner Starsky didn't see very often, but now that it was gone, he missed it. Starsky was worried it may never come back.

They had been walking for a long time now- at least, it seemed like an awful long time to Starsky. The sun had finally given up it's struggle with the gray clouds and had retreated behind them. An irritating drizzle sprinkled the earth, sounding like the static of a record player against the peaceful forest scenery. The wildlife was sparse. Starsky imagined a family of deer huddled safely under a protective bush and wished he could do the same. How much further could it be?

He was worried about Hutch. The lanky blond had hardly spoken a word during their travels. Granted, Hutch was normally more reserved, Starsky has selfishly hoped for some comfort as they struggled through the dreary forest. Hutch's half-hearted attempts to hide his pained grunts were starting to wear heavily on Starsky's heart.

"You okay? Wanna stop for a while?"

Hutch licked his lips and swallowed hard, his ribs pressing into Starsky as he panted. "I'm fine. Go get some branches."

"For what?"

"A splint."

"Ah-ha!" Starsky crowed. "I knew it! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

Hutch sank to sit on a rotting tree stump. "Because it hurts a lot more now and I thought we would've found help by now."

Starsky quickly scouted for some fairly straight and sturdy sticks. "Are we lost?"

"I don't know where we are, exactly, so…"

"You always know how to raise my spirits, you know that?"

Starsky returned with a couple sticks and knelt before Hutch. His knees sank into the wet earth with a _squish_. Slowly and mindful of his broken arm, he took off his own outer shirt and tore it into strips. "Like this?" he asked after he had placed the supportive branches on either side of the broken leg.

"You're doin' great," Hutch said. He only spared a glance to Starsky, then immediately looked to the sky, his face a mask of unhidden pain.

Starsky felt a pang of sympathy blossom in his gut as he tied the sticks snuggly to his partner's leg. At least neither of their broken bones had penetrated the skin- then they would have to worry about infection. Providing they weren't too far off course, help shouldn't be too far away. As Starsky finished tending to Hutch's leg, he decided the silence was too melancholy.

"Hey, talk to me. What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Hutch replied sharply as he tried to stand. "Let's just keep moving. We should be getting close."

Starsky helped his partner stand and looked into those blue eyes as familiar as his own. He sighed inwardly. "Is it the dog? I'm sorry-"

"I said I don't want to talk about it. Can we just keep moving, please?"

Hutch's words floated lazily in the damp air. Starsky opened his mouth to acquiesce when Hutch held up a flat hand.

"Did you hear that?"

"What." Starsky said, defeated, and rolled his eyes. Hutch would go to great lengths to avoid sharing his feelings.

"I heard a noise. Sounded like a person."

Starsky's interest flared. "Where?"

Hutch's intense gaze searched the forest. 'Cop mode', Starsky realized, and stood a little straighter.

"Somewhere over there," Hutch replied softly, as if his voice might spook the thing responsible for the noise.

Starsky listened too. There it was- laughter? Men laughing? Starsky's mood lightened. He and Hutch could ask for help from the fellow campers and perhaps still make it home by nightfall.

"Let's go check it out," Starsky said as he took a step forward.

Hutch didn't move.

"What?" Starsky complained, recognizing the stubborn streak in his partner. "What is it?"

Hutch looked at Starsky. "Don't you think it's a little strange for people to be camping this far away from the main trail?"

Starsky shrugged, because really, what did he know about camping. "I don't know. Maybe they like roughing it?"

Hutch shook his head. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Probably you're broken leg," Starsky muttered. "Look at us Hutch, we need help. We have to chance it."

"I wish I had my gun."

"You probably would have shot yourself during the earthquake."

Hutch eyed Starsky.

"You know, when the rocks were falling, by accident…"

Hutch rolled his eyes. His left cheek was still noticeably swollen and gave the effect that he was constantly winking. The skin's dark hue almost matched the ugliness of his once-dislocated shoulder. "Well I'm never leaving it at home again. I feel helpless."

"You are helpless, Blintz. That's why I'm here." Starsky grinned and the pain in his head receded a little. "Do you know how incredibly lucky we are that we didn't die in that earthquake? I mean, what are the odds?"

"Something to write home about," Hutch murmured, obviously concentrating on finding the noise again.

Starsky was quiet for a moment too. "Come on. Let's go meet our neighbors."

Hutch sighed and nodded, and Starsky knew that Hutch was obeying just to keep him happy, because they couldn't afford to miss the opportunity for help. If the campers turned out the be murderers, well then, Hutch could say 'I told you so'. But for now, they plugged along, helping each other over slick leaves and rocks and fallen branches. Couldn't someone clean this place up once in a while?

They slowed their pace as a very large green tent came into view. The sounds of human voices were very recognizable now. Starsky ducked out from underneath Hutch's arm and kneeled behind a berried bush as Hutch grasped the tree next to him for support. There was no need to motion for silence- both detectives instinctively slipped into 'spy' mode. They immediately discovered that the voices belonged to one man and one woman.

"I'm telling you Frank, this operation is going perfectly! You couldn't have picked a better spot, baby."

"Yeah, well we still gotta haul all these across the state line, don't forget."

"Piece of cake." There was silence for a moment, then the woman giggled suspiciously.

Starsky strained his neck to peer over the bush. He could just make out two figures, standing very, _very_ close to each other. Kissing, maybe? They looked like any young couple in love, but Starsky was curious about what they had to haul. Even without his gun, they could play their cards right and inform the local rangers of the situation. He glanced back at Hutch for direction- and was taken aback by his friend's appearance.

Hutch's eyelids were at half-mast and his face had gone sickly pale. He leaned heavily against the tree and was actually starting to slide down it's rough bark. "Hutch?" Starsky whispered, more out of disbelief for his partner than fear of being overheard.

Hutch swallowed like he was pushing down the contents of his stomach. "I don't feel so good," he mumbled and began a boneless decent.

Starsky was at his partner's side, lowering Hutch to the ground. "It's okay," he started, leaning Hutch against the tree. Hutch was panting now, and he looked at Starsky with glassy eyes.

"My head… 's hard to breathe…"

"Calm down Blintz," Starsky tried to console. "What do I need to do?" Well, besides pulling a radio out of his butt and calling for help.

Hutch winced and wilted to the side, battling some inner pains. "I don't know…" he ground out, his sides heaving with effort.

Starsky was worried. It was blatantly obvious that Hutch couldn't continue the trek to the ranger station. Starsky didn't want to leave his injured partner behind while he continued, either. He looked through the bushes at the tent. He couldn't see any other way around it. He'd just act innocent, like he hadn't overheard that they might be doing something illegal, and ask for help. He'd play dumb. Hutch always said he was good at that.

"Alright. Stay here. I'm gonna see if they can help us." Starsky patted Hutch's knee gently, letting his touch convey concern, comfort, and a promise. He hated seeing Hutch in pain, wanted to stay and hold him as he had all those times before… but he wanted to _help_ his friend more. Hutch deserved a chance at real medical help.

Hutch nodded and curled in on himself as Starsky stood up. After one last sympathetic glance, he turned and broke through the shrubbery and into the campsite. His good arm was raised in peace, although he was sure he must look questionable in his current condition. "Hello!" he called out as he stopped just inside the clearing. "I need help!"

The man and woman that had been kissing intimately broke apart, their eyes wide like they had been teenagers caught in the act. "Who the hell are you?" the man shouted immediately.

Quickly, Starsky observed the couple. They both were dressed for the weather with heavy boots on their feet and yellow ponchos covering their dark clothing. The woman's brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail that brushed her shoulders. Both were rather thin, but something in their eyes told Starsky that these two were fighters. Something else coiled in his gut at that moment, and made him desperately wish he could turn back time.

"I need help, I'm a-" he stopped himself. If these two were doing unlawful things, announcing that he was a cop would most certainly _not_ be to his benefit.

As Starsky stumbled over his words, the man reached into the tent and withdrew a long rifle, aiming it at Starsky's chest. "Don't move, _friend_," the man sneered.

Starsky gulped. This was really _not_ his day. "Take it easy," he replied coolly, his voice not betraying the helplessness that was blossoming in his stomach. "I'm unarmed."

"You alone?"

"Yes."

The man snorted and piercing eyes searched Starsky raw. "I don't believe you."

Starsky looked to the woman for help, but found her face to be just as stony. They were at a small standoff; Starsky was not about to say anything about Hutch and the man looked like he _really_ wanted to shoot something.

"Tell me the truth or I'll fire at will." To emphasize his point, the man swung the rifle to the left and fired it, the bullet disappearing into the shrubbery as the echo disappeared into the trees. Starsky flinched.

He couldn't risk having the man shoot Hutch. It would all be over for sure then. He opened his mouth, and the woman must have saw the hesitation on his face.

"I think he does have a friend," she said smoothly, walking closer to Starsky. His eyes watched the rifle's muzzle. "Why don't you tell him to come out and play?"

He would try begging again before he voluntarily gave up his friend. "Please… we need help. We're of no threat to you."

"What do you think, Elaine? Looks like that big mouth of his might be a threat."

Starsky's hope flickered. They were using names. That meant they weren't afraid. That was bad.

Elaine grinned the smile of a predatory cheetah that Starsky had saw once on TV. Right before she tore into the still-twitching back end of an antelope.

"I think you're right. He may need to visit with us for a while."

The man stepped closer. His rifle preceded him. "I will repeat myself this one time," he threatened, leaning close. "Go. Get. Your. Friend."

Starsky met the stranger's cold eyes with his own hard stare, but it was of no use. He ran through all the possible things he could do in this situation. The list wasn't very long. If someone had to reveal Hutch, Starsky wanted it to be himself. Finally his eyes slid down and away. "Okay," he submitted. His good arm was still in the air and he closed his fist, pointing with his thumb to the forest behind him. "I'm going to get him."

The man remained silent as Starsky slowly turned his back. Running was out, for he had a reputation of being slower than bullets. The man appeared far too focused for Starsky to be able to surprise and overpower. Plus, that still left the woman.

The prickly bush tore at his jeans as he passed through it. Starsky stood over Hutch, who had unclenched a fraction, though he still looked sick. "I'm sorry, partner," Starsky breathed as he bent down and helped Hutch to his feet. Hutch made no sound, but his wet, blue eyes spoke volumes.

The man chuckled as they moved through the shrub. "So this is what you've been hiding. Boy, I'd say you two do need help." Starsky looked at the man as hatred boiled in his stomach. "Too bad you won't be getting any."

"Let us go and none of this ever happened," Starsky tried one more time.

"You think I'm stupid, boy?" The man replied incredulously. He pushed the rifle into Starsky's ribs. "Get over there. Now."

Starsky let the cold metal push him towards the tent. They stopped before a large tree that stood five feet from the side of the green fabric. What would happen now? Hutch was weighing heavy on Starsky's shoulders, but it was a warm and solid burden that was welcomed.

"Elaine, get the rope."

The woman moved off silently. Starsky could only listen, as the rifle was pressed into the small of his back and he and Hutch were facing the forest's expanse. The tenseness in the air was choking. Even the birds had stopped fluttering about.

"What are we gonna do with 'em Frank?"

Elaine's voice sounded behind Starsky although the gun never lost it's pressure on his kidney. He glanced at Hutch. The blond was wilting before his eyes. Moisture collected at Hutch's temples and his eyes were bleary and unfocused. He stared straight ahead and Starsky wondered if he even knew what was going on.

"Tie 'em up. We'll move out tonight." There was an eerie pause. "The beasts can have them after that."

For a moment, there was no movement and Starsky realized that Elaine must be trying to figure out how to separate them. He smiled despite himself.

"Can he stand?" she asked roughly as she appeared at Starsky's side. There was indeed a coil of rope in her small hands.

"I doubt it," he answered tersely. It was an honest answer, and he hated it.

There was more silence, then Frank burst out, "Oh for Christ's sake, give me the rope. You keep the gun on him, you hear?"

"I got him baby."

Hutch was torn roughly from his side and cold air filled the spot where his partner had been. Starsky watched as Frank shoved Hutch to the ground near the tree. Starsky winced and his blood boiled. "Go easy on him," he ground out.

Frank didn't even look up as he dragged Hutch to lean against the tree. "You keep you mouth shut," he said as he pulled Hutch's hands around the tree on either side and began tying them together.

Starsky glared at Frank until his eyes burned and watered. Hutch's leg was still miraculously straight in the make-shift splint, despite the abuse it had just suffered. That may be the only good thing about the current situation.

Frank stood up, then bent over to admire his handiwork. He slapped Hutch's cheek lightly. "He ain't goin' nowhere," he sneered, then straightened and moved towards Starsky.

Starsky took an involuntary step back and the rifle dug deeper into his flesh.

"I wouldn't do that," Frank warned. "Elaine's got a quick trigger finger."

Panic was rising like bile in Starsky's throat. He eyed Frank as the man reached around and relinquished the gun from Elaine. "Be a good boy and go have a seat by your buddy over there." It was an order.

Starsky had never been one to take orders. "You'll never get away with this," he said, and tried to sound as threatening as one could while standing on the wrong end of a firearm. He looked around for anything that could be used in defense. The squirrel he spotted flicked it's tail and scurried away.

"And who's gonna stop me? You? That guy over there?" Frank grinned as he stepped closer to Starsky. "Not today, boy."

The last thing Starsky saw was the butt-end of Frank's long rifle. If he had just kept his eyes open another fraction of a second, he would have seen the small brown shape that darted around the edge of the campsite.

For the second time that day, David Starsky fell unconscious.


	7. Chapter 7

_"He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion"  
Unknown _

"I told you so."

Starsky groaned and rolled his head against the damp, rough tree bark behind him. His senses slowly fed his mind information and the cruel, cold world around him started to take shape. Cool rain water pattered peacefully against fleshy green leaves as it dripped from the sky. The smell of dirt and forest and purity rushed into his lungs. A gentle breeze blew warm air over Starsky's skin, eliciting a shiver and goose bumps from the detective.

He groaned again, because Starsky was quite vocal, and opened his eyes. The sky was still overcast and dull, and it hid the sun behind a blanket of wet clouds. Starsky had no idea what time it was, but he imagined it to be late afternoon now. His hands were tied behind his back, securing him to a large tree. He tilted his head back and looked up into the foliage. He wondered what kind of tree it was. Hutch would know.

"Hutch!"

There was movement to Starsky's side, then a familiar grumble. "Jesus Starsk, I'm right here."

Starsky pulled against his bindings as he fought to reach his friend. "You alright?" he asked, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. His last image of Hutch had not been a comforting one. "What happened?"

"Well, it appears that someone tied us up."

Starsky rolled his eyes. "To _you_, turkey, what happened to you?"

Hutch took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed against the tree he was tied to. "I'm not sure," he said, closing his eyes and swallowing. "Everything hurt all at once." He paused for a moment, and a bird chirped overhead. "I haven't felt anything like that since…Forest."

Starsky let his gaze drop as his mood darkened in a Pavlovian response to the mention of Ben Forest.

The man had caused both of them enough heartache and pain to last a lifetime. If Hutch was mentioning the man now, he must truly be hurting.

That worried Starsky.

He looked around the quiet campsite. "I'll get us out of here, don't worry."

Hutch huffed and visibly fought back a sarcastic remark.

Starsky searched the campsite for any sign of their captors, Frank and Elaine. All was quiet and still. The tent still stood in the clearing, somehow seeming more dark and spooky than it had at first. Starsky's gaze fell to a dark lump behind the tent and suddenly, everything made a lot of sense.

The large mass of wet fur was a dead bear. It lay in a heap in the mud; the once-noble animal now reduced to a pile of rotting meat. Starsky almost felt sorry for the beast. It's death meant that the couple were poachers. Poachers with weaponry and the skill to bring down large game. That meant they were dangerous. So where were they?

Starsky looked to Hutch. The blond was leaning against the tree again, his wet hair laying flat against his head as rain trickled over a collection of cuts and bruises. His splinted leg lay straight out in front of him, trembling slightly. Hutch looked pale, and sick. Starsky took a deep breath, praying that a means of escape would come as easily as the oxygen.

"Hello!" Starsky called into the trees. He wasn't sure what would happen if Frank or Elaine did return, but it had to be better than sitting here waiting.

Nothing happened. Had they really left he and Hutch here alone? The couple were either new at this hostage stuff or _very_ experienced.

Starsky glanced at Hutch and laughed. Of course they were alone. They were injured, tied up and utterly defenseless. There was no way to escape. No where to go.

"What's so funny?" Hutch mumbled, not even opening his eyes to glare at Starsky.

"Nothing's funny. At least, not like 'ha-ha' funny. More like ironic funny." Starsky sighed. "If you have an idea, now would be a great time to share."

"I heard them talking. They won't be back until dark."

"Yeah? Where'd they go?"

"Something about meeting a buyer. I can't really remember that part."

The clouds seemed to part just the tiniest bit. "So now what do we do?" Starsky asked as he gave the ropes around his wrists an experimental tug.

Fire coursed through his veins with enough force to steal his breath. Stars twinkled in Starsky's vision as his broken arm made itself known once more. How had he managed to forget about it? Adrenaline must be a very potent thing.

Hutch was watching him intently now. "Don't move around," he said softly, and Starsky wanted to reply that he already figured that out.

Starsky took quick notice of his other aches and pains. He felt like he had survived a cave-in. A pounding headache beat viciously against his skull, not wanting to be forgotten. Starsky swallowed and pushed his stomach back into its proper place. "Don't you have a knife or somethin'?" he asked to take his mind off the nausea. "Don't you nature boys always carry around pocket knives and stuff?"

Hutch chuckled but it ended in a coughing fit. When he could breathe again he replied, "You watch _way_ too much TV Starsk."

"Hey, I'm good at what I do. Most of the time, it's nothing."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "I'll agree with that."

A snap echoed through the campsite and everything fell silent.

"Did you hear that?" Starsky whispered. His heart began to beat a little faster and the throbbing pain in his arm faded into the background.

Hutch shushed him with a quick glare. He glanced sidelong at Starsky then looked back to the shadows of the forest.

Starsky followed Hutch's lead and scanned the perimeter of the campsite for any sign that Frank and Elaine had returned. A small bush rustled and the motion caught the attention of the two detectives. Whatever was out there was probably going to be dangerous. Maybe it was a relative of the dead bear seeking revenge. Maybe it was a rabid wolf. Were there wolves in this forest? Maybe it was Big Foot.

When every last one of Starsky's muscles had clenched in fearful anticipation, a figure emerged from the shrubbery.

"Gordo!"

Hutch's exclamation cut through the ringing silence and the shaggy brown dog trotted across the campsite and over to his friend.

Starsky let out a big breath. "Good God dog, don't do that to me."

"He's not dead Starsky, can you believe it? I thought-"

Hutch was cut off as the wriggling dog leaned against the blond and licked his chin.

Starsky smiled. He had to admit, he was glad the dog hadn't become bear food. His partner was smiling for the first time all day, and that made Starsky feel better. Maybe there was magic in these woods.

"Hey Hutch, tell that mangy mutt to get us free and I will buy him a burger with everything on it from Huggy's."

Hutch tried to glare at Starsky but a long wet tongue kept licking at his cheek.

Starsky snorted and looked at the mud he was sitting in. His brow furrowed as he began trying to figure out a way out of this situation. Doing so only made his head hurt worse.

The sudden lack of miserable rain made Starsky look up. Before he could question the clouds, his eyes locked on his partner and the dog and he froze. Hutch was leaning forward, as much as the rope would allow, with his head against the dog's head. Starsky listened hard but could barely make out Hutch's quiet mumbling. The dog stood with it's tail down and his eyes closed, giving the appearance that he was not only listening but _understanding_.

Starsky shook his head and started to turn away when the dog turned and bounded ten feet away, then stopped and looked back between Starsky and Hutch. It barked in impatience.

Starsky raised an eyebrow. "What's he-"

"Give him a minute," Hutch replied gently. His blue eyes were trained on the dog.

Starsky looked at the dog. It trotted back to Hutch, it's tail wagging, and stopped in between Hutch's legs. It whined and looked behind it to the trees. Hutch simply shook his head. The dog's ears went back against it's head and his tail stopped wagging. He looked at Hutch a moment longer, then stepped lightly over Hutch's splinted leg and circled the tree.

Starsky stared.

The dog sniffed the ground and cried, then began digging at the base of the tree. His strong front feet pounded the earth as pointed toenails raked the dirt. After a few moments, the dog stopped and cried again, seemingly at a loss on what to do next. Then the dog looked around and scooted closer to the tree, then plopped down with an 'oomph'.

Then he began to chew on the rope.

Starsky's jaw dropped. "What- how- what-"

Hutch turned his head and smiled at Starsky. "He said he likes his burgers medium-rare."

The dog's jaws worked hard on gnawing through the rope around Hutch's wrists. Starsky wondered how the animal could control the obvious force behind those strong jaws and avoid clamping down on Hutch's hands. Starsky just acquired a lot more respect for the four-legged stray.

"Is this going to work?" Starsky asked as the dog paused to lick it's lips.

"Of course it will, Starsky. You just have to open minded and have a little faith."

"If you're too open minded your brain will fall out."

Hutch glared at Starsky but the tiniest of smiles was pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Is that what happened to you?"

Starsky grinned. "My brain works just fine, thank you."

There was a moment of silence as Hutch tilted his head back to look into the sky. "At least it stopped raining. That's good news, right?"

"I'd say for surviving an cave-in and a bear attack and being tied to some trees, we're doin' alright."

"How's your arm?"

"Oh, it hurts pretty bad."

"Vision?"

"Multiple. How's your leg?"

"Sill there. We gotta get your head checked out. You can't afford to suffer any more damage."

Starsky huffed. "Like a permanent limp will make you more attractive to the ladies?"

Hutch opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when his hands suddenly fell freely to his sides. "Good boy!" he praised as the dog trotted around the tree to Hutch's side. His words earned him another lick on the cheek.

"Good, now get over here and untie me and we can get out of here," Starsky said, pulling with his good arm against the ropes.

Hutch braced himself against the ground and pushed upwards against the tree. He struggled to keep his good leg under him and avoid putting weight on his broken leg. He sort of hopped around a bit and the dog skittered away until at last, Hutch found his balance and stood up straight.

Starsky felt his heart ache a little at the sight of his partner struggling so hard with the simple act of standing. Hutch hobbled closer and hesitated before slowly, gingerly lowering himself to kneel awkwardly behind Starsky. Hutch said nothing as he pulled on the ropes. Within seconds, the rope fell away and Starsky brought his hands before him to rest in his lap. Hutch shifted and sat beside him.

"Thanks," Starsky said as he settled his broken arm in his lap.

Hutch reached out beside him and grabbed the fabric that had been Starsky's sling. "Here, let's get this back on."

Starsky ducked his head as Hutch placed the damp, make-shift sling over his head. Hutch was leaning close, and Starsky couldn't help but smell the sweat and blood that clung to his partner. He tried to look into Hutch's eyes but the blond would not meet his gaze.

After placing Starsky's arm in the sling, Hutch moved away. "You've got to keep it still," he said off-handedly.

Starsky nodded, saddened by Hutch's dampened demeanor. He studied the blond for a moment before the dog shook itself and the sudden action reminded Starsky of their new order of business.

"We're free, what are sitting around here for?" he asked light-heartedly as he stood up. The earth swirled around him, forcing him to reach out blindly and brace himself against the tree.

Hutch chuckled dryly. "Don't move so fast," he said as he rose to his feet also. As before, he hopped in place before finding his balance.

"No kidding," Starsky muttered. He would have rolled his eyes if he weren't afraid his head would fall off. He took a step forward and the dog dashed out before him, taking up it's role of a canine scout. "You ready to blow this joint?" Starsky asked as he ducked under Hutch's arm.

They hobbled forward together as Hutch replied. "I was born ready."

Starsky cocked his head. "Isn't that my line?"

"I'm borrowing it."

"Borrowing it without permission," Starsky corrected, and before Hutch could reply he continued, "Let's check out the tent. Maybe they have something in there we can use."

Hutch nodded and swallowed audibly. His eyes closed for a brief moment as Starsky struggled to navigate them to the large green tent.

"You with me?" Starsky asked with a sidelong glance to his friend. Although Hutch didn't actually look _worse_, he had looked pretty beat up for some time now and it was a growing concern in Starsky's mind.

Hutch nodded his head. "I'll give ya a warning before I puke."

Starsky snorted. "Gee, thanks pal."

"'S what friends are for," Hutch mumbled in reply.

The dog stood before the tent with his tail wagging and an expectant look shining on his face. Starsky brought them to a stop and pulled back the tent's opening flap, allowing the dog to dart inside first. There were no growls or yelps, so Starsky maneuvered Hutch and himself through the awkward opening.

One small kerosene lantern hung from the center of the tent, casting a flickering, dim light against the dark fabric. A small table, no bigger than a card table, sat in the center of the tent. The dog sat next to the table facing Starsky, it's tail sweeping back and forth in a maddening rhythm and a big dog-smile on it's face.

On the table, dramatically spotlighted by the small flame overhead, sat the most beautiful 2-way radio David Starsky had ever seen.


	8. Chapter 8

On the table, dramatically spotlighted by the small flame overhead, sat the most beautiful 2-way radio David Starsky had ever seen.

A huge, face-splitting smile spread over his face. The last time Starsky remembered smiling this hard was the first time he sat before a group of female 'dancers'. He was at a rare loss for words. Starsky turned to look at Hutch, who was wearing a smile that probably rivaled his own. The two men locked eyes and a palpable feeling of joy passed between them.

Then Starsky began to giggle. His face heated at the uncharacteristic sound bubbling over his lips, but soon Hutch was joining him. They were free, and it had been so simple. The radio suddenly became the funniest thing either man had seen in a long time. Even the dog yipped a few times.

When words finally formed coherently in Starsky's mind, he spit them out. "Looks like we're saved, Blintz. I'd like to send a big thank-you to our captors…" he babbled, sounding like an actor accepting a prestigious award.

Together they moved forward and Hutch shifted his weight from Starsky to the table, allowing Starsky better access to the radio. He turned the knob to a clear station, then Starsky picked up the hand piece and looked hopefully at Hutch. He pressed the button and began speaking. "This is Zeb- Detective David Starsky of the BCPD, I have a 10-108, I am in need of assistance. Does anyone copy?"

The radio crackled for a second before a clear voice replied. "10-2, this is the Topanga State Park Ranger Station. What's your 10-20?"

Starsky let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The dog barked once as the detectives relaxed visibly.

Realizing he had been asked a question, Starsky grabbed a wrinkled map and pushed it towards Hutch. "Where are we?" he asked, moving closer as the blond bent over the dimly lit paper.

Hutch ran an index finger over the map and squinted at it for a few seconds before his hand stopped and he tapped a spot near the corner. "Here, there's the campsite. We can't be more than 5 miles north of it."

Starsky rattled off the coordinates to the park officials. "We need an ambulance and extra officers. We were taken captive by armed and dangerous persons, current whereabouts unknown."

"10-4 detective. Units are in route. How many are in your party?"

"Two." Hutch's elbow jabbed his ribs and Starsky rolled his eyes. "And a… dog."

"Did not copy, please repeat."

Starsky sighed. "There are two officers and a dog."

Starsky thought he heard a laugh filter over the radio then the voice lost it's formality. "Sit tight detective, your assistance will be there within half an hour."

Starsky let the hand piece fall the short distance to the table top and he grinned in triumph. Despite his embarrassment over having to include the mutt in the call for help, a feeling of immense accomplishment warmed him. "Well partner, looks like this camping trip is gonna be cut short."

Hutch smiled softly. "It's alright." At Starsky's questioning look, he added, "There's always next weekend."

Starsky began shaking his head. "Oh no you don't…"

Hutch shifted his weight and something clattered to the ground. Starsky moved forward to steady Hutch as the blond bent over to retrieve the object. When Hutch stood again, he was holding the polished wooden butt of a hunting rifle. "What do we have here," he murmured sarcastically.

Starsky opened his mouth to reply when the dog moved soundlessly towards the tent's opening. The hair on it's back rose quickly as it audibly sniffed long and hard through the flaps.

A low growl rumbled through it's exposed teeth.

Starsky looked into Hutch's worried eyes. "What's he saying now?" He was afraid of the answer.

There was a loud bang that sounded suspiciously like a car door being shut. Then voices could be heard.

"Baby we're rich! Soon we'll be able to have that house on the beach, just like we wanted!"

"He almost backed out Elaine. It's getting harder and harder to unload this stuff! I don't want to be stuck with a load of illegal pelts!"

"Calm down baby, we only have to sell a few more."

"Hey- where'd they go?"

"Who?"

"You know who-"

The voices were suddenly silenced. The dog stood stiffly before the tent's opening, no longer growling but listening with perked ears and a slow and stiffly wagging tail. Starsky felt a knot of anticipation form in his gut.

Just when it seemed they had caught a break…

Starsky held up a flat palm towards Hutch and took a step forward, towards the entrance. Something in his head screamed at him not to get any closer, but he swallowed it down where it landed with a strangled cry and a thud next to mother's warning about taking candy from strangers. He envisioned the criminal couple on the other side of the suddenly-too-thin fabric, closing in with loaded weaponry. This all felt like a corny horror movie.

"Come on out boys, we know you're in there!"

A hand rested on Starsky's shoulder. "Let's do it partner," Hutch murmured, his eyes glinting.

Starsky looked down and watched as Hutch jammed the rifle through the rear bindings of his splint, crudely concealing the firearm from anyone viewing the detective from the front.

Starsky smiled.

Maybe their luck _had_ changed.

"We're coming out!" he shouted back and ducked under Hutch's right arm. "Hold you fire!" he added for good measure.

Starsky pulled back the tent's flap and stepped into the warm sunlight that was finally gracing the earth. Water fell like diamonds from the tree leaves, and the campsite smelled new and clean. Even the birds were singing loudly. Perfect setting for shooting someone.

Roughly ten feet away, Frank and Elaine each pointed their rifles at Starsky and Hutch. A sick smile spread over Frank's face while Elaine remained focused on the target before her: Starsky.

"You boys look sad," Frank taunted. "You know, you shouldn't take life so seriously." He grinned and tightened his finger on the rifle aimed at Hutch. "It isn't permanent."

Starsky had tensed and was half a heartbeat from grabbing the concealed gun from Hutch when the dog slinked around the blond to stand in front of him. His head was lowered, his teeth were bared, his hackles up and a deep growl sounded from his chest. He was every bit the dog Starsky had seen just yesterday in a filthy alley, defending his dead owner from different group of humans. The dog was obviously not deterred by having guns pointed at him.

"Hey, get that fleabag away from me!" Frank exclaimed, backing up a small step. Elaine's eyes darted between Starsky and the dog.

For a crazy moment, Starsky thought that he and Hutch had the upper hand. "Lower your weapons and I'll call him off. I gotta warn ya, he's pretty hungry."

Frank eyed Starsky with uncertainty, but it quickly transformed into control. He lowered his shoulders and resumed his defensive stance. "I said, _call him off_." He spoke slowly and with conviction, this time looking directly at Hutch.

"Too late."

Before Starsky could blink, Frank fired his gun. Hutch was torn out from under him. A human yelp echoed the booming gunshot.

Everything moved in slow motion. The dog lunged for Frank as Starsky struggled to control Hutch's collapse with only one arm. Starsky saw the brown streak of fur from the corner of his eye as the rest of his vision was filled by the blossoming bloodstain on Hutch's chest.

Another shot sounded, and this time it was closely followed by a nonhuman cry. Hutch was fully on the ground now, wide eyed and panting with shock, and Starsky ripped the rifle from it's hiding place and hefted the weapon into the air with his right arm. He pulled the trigger as soon as it lined up with Frank, and the man toppled backwards to the ground as the shot echoed through the trees.

He turned sharply and froze, training the gun on Elaine.

Silence rang through the once-peaceful forest, broken rhythmically by Hutch's ragged breathing. The wound was crippling but not fatal, as the bullet had torn through the soft spot under Hutch's collarbone. Starsky couldn't risk looking down at his partner yet- not until he had Elaine apprehended and rendered harmless.

"Drop it," he spat, feeling his shoulders tighten.

Elaine's eyes softened and her shoulders slumped. With a small cry of despair, she tossed her rifle a short distance away and raised her hands in surrender.

Starsky herded her with his gun towards the tree he had been tied to only a short while ago. "Sit down," he ordered, too upset and angry to toss out a signature sarcastic remark. Elaine sank to the ground with her back to the tree. Starsky stuffed the rifle under his arm as he picked up the same length of rope that had bound his wrists and sank to his knees to secure her small hands. The process was slow as he fought to ignore the burning, grating pain in his broken arm while he used both hands to tie a secure knot. Finally satisfied, he rose to he feet and reclaimed the grip on his weapon.

He patted her cheek gently. "Don't go anywhere."

Elaine turned her tear-stained face away, but Starsky was now on a new mission. He quickly returned to Hutch's side and propped the rifle against the tent as he hit his knees beside his partner.

"Did you get 'em?" Hutch panted as he struggled to sit up. The blood was spreading over his bare chest, shining so brilliantly in the sunlight that Starsky wondered if maybe the sun had chosen this time to shine for that sole reason.

"Yeah Blintz, I got 'em." Starsky leaned over his partner and pulled him upwards, immediately noting the bullet's exit wound on the blond's back. "You sure are making a mess here," he muttered with a forced smile.

Starsky looked around for anything to press to the wound before remembering he was still in his undershirt. After a very hard struggle, he had the thin garment off his body and pressed hard against Hutch. "You're gonna be okay, help's already comin', remember?"

Hutch nodded then began tilting to the side. "Starsky, it's just a flesh wound." He swallowed as Starsky righted him. "I've had worse."

Indeed, the bleeding did not seem uncontrollable. Even with the deep lines of pain on the blond's face and all their previous injuries, Hutch was lucky. They both were lucky.

"Is he…" Hutch started quietly, and Starsky followed his partner's solemn gaze to the felled dog.

"He was shot, buddy."

"I gotta see him," Hutch said, suddenly rocking forward in an effort to go to the still animal.

"Hutch, wait-" Starsky was left fumbling as Hutch scrambled to his feet. "You bull-headed son of a- wait a minute!"

Hutch stumbled and flailed in his attempts to get to the dog, resembling a broken-winged bird in it's last efforts to fly. He sank to the ground, landing heavily because of his unbalance, and leaned over the mass of bloody fur.

"Hutch…"

Starsky whispered around the large lump in his throat as he stood behind his friend. Surely the dog was dead; it had taken a bullet at almost point blank. There was no need for Hutch to see the broken body of the animal he loved so dearly. What's done was done- the deities that had smiled upon them this afternoon had somehow overlooked their four-legged companion.

Starsky placed a hand on Hutch's trembling shoulder. "Hey, come on. Let's get you taken care of."

Hutch reached out a shaking hand towards the dog's relaxed face. His fingers ghosted over it's closed eyes and to Starsky's startled amazement, the animal cried.

His hand tightened on Hutch as Starsky leaned forward to watch. "He's alive?" he whispered, not wanting to speak too loudly as his voice alone might send the dog to it's death.

"He's bad," Hutch replied softly, letting his hands glide over the tangled and dirty wiry fur. The long, trembling fingers ran through the glistening blood on the animal's side and Hutch withdrew his hand sharply. The dog cried again, whistling softly through his nose. He made no movement.

Starsky never knew that dogs could cry. He knew they whined, barked and growled, but there was only one word to describe the heart-breaking sound coming from the animal at his feet.

The dog was crying.

Hutch sighed and his breath hitched. "I've gotta help him," he announced quietly, and Starsky furrowed his brow.

"What-"

Hutch's voice seemed to have found strength although it still wavered. "He suffering, Starsk. He's dying in agony and he doesn't deserve to go that way." There was a heartbreaking pause. "Bring me the rifle."

Something cold and spiny twisted in Starsky's belly. 'But you don't deserve this either,' he thought, and blinked away the sudden onslaught of water in his eyes. Had had thought it had stopped raining. Before he had actually given his feet permission, they were carrying him towards the gun.

Numb fingers wrapped around the cold rifle and soon Starsky was watching himself hand the firearm to his partner. It was all too surreal; whereas time had become hurried but lasting during the shooting, now it slowed painfully and dramatically. Starsky felt he should do something, say something- anything to stop what his partner was going to do...

To himself.

Instead, he helped Hutch to his feet while keeping his damn watery eyes trained on the dying dog. He couldn't look away. Starsky always put his total trust and faith into his partner, and if this was what needed to be done, then Starsky would stay at Hutch's side through it all. He owed the dog that much at least. He owed Hutch much more.

Hutch raised the rifle and aimed it at the fading brown dog. The quivering of the long barrel was not lost on Starsky. There was a gurgling noise now, and the whining was becoming more intense. Starsky lifted his gaze to his partner's face. Hutch close his eyes briefly, murmuring a potent prayer and a sincere apology, then he refocused pained blue eyes on the suffering animal. A tear slipped down his cheek. Starsky's stomach cramped.

A loud and hollow gunshot rang through the air, then absolute silence once more settled over the campsite.


	9. Chapter 9

"_The perfection of a life with a dog, like the perfection of an autumn, is disturbing because you know, even as it begins, that it must end. Time bestows the gift and steals it in the process."_

_George Evans_

"Get in."

"No."

"Hutch, just get in."

"No Starsky, how many time do I gotta say it?"

Starsky shifted his weight and stamped his foot. "You can just keep on sayin' it as I wheel you outta here, how's that? Now get in the wheelchair."

"Not if you push a wheelchair like you drive that-" Hutch faltered and looked to the floor, then quickly regained his composure and looked into Starsky's eye with confidence. "Besides, I can walk."

"You can hobble," Starsky muttered. "Do I have to get the doctor and that mountain of a nurse back in here?"

The small hospital room fell silent as the partners engaged in a stare-down. Hutch was leaning on his shiny new crutches and his right leg was weighed down in a cast. Virtually everyone from the station had stopped by and left their signatures on the once-white cast, and there were a few hearts and phone numbers scrawled over the plaster as well.

Starsky's own cast had quite the collection of signatures as well. His left arm was fitted in a proper sling, although he had almost been sad to see the scrap of fabric that Hutch had used thrown away. His headache was finally quiet and most of his other aches and pains were virtually non-existent.

They spent the past week within the familiar walls of the hospital they had come to know and love. After the ambulance carried them out of the campsite and delivered them into the waiting hands of the doctors and nurses, Starsky and Hutch had each been tended to quickly. Starsky had been concussed, as Hutch had later boasted that he figured as much, and his arm had been set. The break had splintered from all the strenuous labor it was put through and required an operation to gather all the fragments of bone. There were no further complications.

Hutch's broken leg had- miraculously- remained fairly stable and was a rather routine fix. The dislocated shoulder had been correctly relocated and Starsky was even given a thumbs-up from the doctor attending them. Hutch was also lucky with his gunshot wound; after receiving fluids and a few stitches, the wound had begun to heal very nicely by the doctor's standards. Aside from some nasty bruising of both skin and bone, Hutch had also been declared healthy.

Starsky blinked his dry eyes and once more focused his attention on his blond partner.

With a dramatic sigh of defeat, Hutch ducked his head and sat heavily in the waiting wheelchair.

"Good boy," Starsky teased as they started into the brightly-lit hallway.

Hutch mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Stuff it,' but Starsky chose to ignore the protest.

Huggy had brought Hutch's car to the hospital during one of his numerous visits. Convincing The Bear that he would be okay to drive was one of Starsky's more credible feats. After a long discussion about who was the better driver, Huggy finally relented and made Starsky swear to call if his assistance was ever needed. Of course, that was promise that Starsky had willingly made.

After a seemingly long and scenic tour through the hospital, the pair arrived in the parking lot and Hutch demanded to leave the wheelchair.

"Just relax and let me push you," Starsky tried to reason.

"I can walk across the parking lot like a big boy. And besides, if you push a wheelchair with one hand as well as you drive with one hand, I'll just start walking home now."

"I always drive with one hand, so what difference is a little cast gonna make? Now be quiet and sit down."

There was a pause, then Hutch began, "Starsky, don't you know that these wheelchairs aren't suppose to leave the hospital? It's like stealing a shopping cart or something. I have crutches, now I'm going to walk."

Starsky narrowed his eyes in thought. "Are you serious?"

Hutch focused on the ground as he placed the crutches before him and stood up. "Of course."

"Oh."

When Starsky looked up, Hutch was halfway to the car. "You coming?" he asked impatiently.

Starsky joined his friend and retorted, "Just giving you a head start."

They reached the LTD and feelings of disappointment swelled within Starsky for more reasons than one. The sight of Hutch's trademark vehicle made his own heart yearn for the familiar shape and gleam of his Torino. Captain Dobey had told him that the vehicle had been pulled out from underneath the fallen tree, but it was nothing more than brightly painted scrap metal now. The thought brought tears to Starsky's eyes. How was it fair that Hutch's piece of crap car was still blemishing the earth while his beautiful machine was awaiting a horrible, crushing fate at the nearest junk yard?

They stopped on either side of the old car and Hutch rested his forearms on the roof to look at Starsky. "You sure you're okay driving?"

Starsky rolled his eyes. "I was _born_ okay to drive."

"That's what I was afraid of." Hutch sighed as they each slid into their respective seats. "Alright Andretti, take us home."

The ride home was smooth and ghostly quiet. After the car's initial protest about being started in the first place, it soon settled into it's usual temperamental self. They were turning onto Hutch's street now and the blond had yet to say a word. Starsky risked a glance at his partner. Hutch looked alright, a little pale, but that was nothing new since their rescue. His jaw was tight, as it often was when Hutch was thinking, and Starsky could only wonder as to what was eating at his friend right now.

Starsky wrestled the unruly vehicle into 'park' and took pleasure in killing the engine. He was quickly out of the car and reveling in the fresh air with the abandon of one who was cooped up within the confines of a sterile hospital for _way_ too long. "Hold on a second and let me help you," he scolded as Hutch stumbled a little.

"Starsk, go away, will you? I'm fine!"

Humor was thick in Hutch's voice, for the sun and fresh air must have been lightening his mood also. "You're far from fine my friend, but if you wish to break your other leg on your way into your apartment, then have at it." Starsky leaned back against the patchwork car. "I'll just wait right here to drive you back to the hospital."

Hutch turned to glare over his shoulder. "You coming in or not?"

"Is there food involved?"

Hutch sighed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want."

Starsky grinned and pushed off the car. The horn honked in protest. "Those are the magic words," he said, clapping his hand on Hutch's shoulder in a covert attempt to steady him.

Getting into the apartment was a two-man job and Starsky was glad he had been there to help Hutch. Between the painkillers that coursed through their veins and the injuries themselves, once-normal movements were made sluggish and clumsy.

"I hate this," Hutch muttered as they moved inside the small apartment.

"Hey, I believe it was _your_ idea to go camping in the first place." Starsky eased Hutch onto the couch and made his way into the kitchen. He had a feeling they could both use a beer.

Starsky's eyes rested on the bag of open dog food sitting on the counter. His mind went blank before filling with understanding.

So this was why Hutch had been apprehensive. He didn't want to remember the hurt and feeling of failure towards the scruffy dog they had befriended. Starsky understood now. He slowed his pace unconsciously and decided that he might still be able to save his friend from some of that pain. How had that mangy mutt wormed it's way so deeply into their hearts so quickly?

Starsky grabbed the bag of kibble and moved towards the trash can. It would be easy enough to sneak through the apartment and rid the place of the evidence. Luckily there wasn't much to hide-

Starsky stepped onto something hard and unstable and let out a yelp of surprise as he found himself falling. Grabbing onto the table with his good arm and catching himself, Starsky looked down to find that he had tripped over the bowl he had fed Gordo from the last time they were all in this kitchen.

"Are you alright?"

Before Starsky could form coherent answer, Hutch was at his side, balancing on his crutches awkwardly in an attempt to steady him. "I'm okay," he insisted, gently batting Hutch away. "I just tripped."

Hutch's blue-eyed gaze dropped to the floor and Starsky cursed himself as the blond's face fell.

"Hey," he started softly, then stopped, unsure of what to say.

Hutch stared at the bowl for a while, and when he lifted his face, Starsky was not surprised to find more sparkle in those deep blue eyes than normal.

"I miss him."

"I know you do," Starsky replied just as brokenly. "I'm sorry."

Hutch blinked and if it were possible, there was even more wetness in his eyes. "He was a good dog. He didn't deserve to die like that."

Starsky knew nothing of being a pet-grief counselor, but he didn't expect the pain to be much easier than losing a dear friend. Maybe even a family member. "Hey, you were his friend. You gave him a good life." As soon as the words left his lips, Starsky wanted to snatch them back.

"A good _life_? Starsky, I knew that dog for a little more than twenty-four hours! You saw how uncared for he was!"

"But you are what he remembers," Starsky said softly and with conviction. "You might have been the first person that was kind to him, but don't you always remember the more recent things the best?" He was rambling now, but if he kept talking long enough, the right words would fall out.

"Starsky, he's dead. He's not remembering anything." Hutch's shoulder's slumped. "He's dead," he repeated, "So it doesn't even matter."

"Damn you and that big heart of yours," Starsky said softly, only a notch above a whisper. "You _know_ it matters- _I_ know it matters!" His volume had gotten a little loud, so he dropped his voice again. "I was the one who scraped you off the ground afterwards, remember? I gathered all the tiny pieces of your broken heart and tried to press them back together. Don't act like it doesn't matter now." He paused and found his hand on Hutch's arm. The pain from that afternoon still lingered strongly on his mind. After pulling the trigger, Hutch collapsed and Starsky was only able to partially ease the fall. They waited for the ambulance on the ground, Starsky trying in vain to console his devastated partner in a very private display of raw emotions. It was the sort of thing that you never talked about again.

"You only gave the dog what it _needed_ Hutch, and don't you forget that. Gordo saved your life, and in the end, you saved his. You know I'm no Dr. Doolittle, but even I could see that he was _happy_ to be set free. That dog was grateful, Hutch. You didn't take his life. You took mercy."

Only when the silence echoed around them did Starsky realize that he had been speaking loudly, the way his heart often did when it bypassed his mind. Hutch was standing very still now, and the quiet was thick.

Finally, Hutch sighed and Starsky rubbed his hand over his friend's arm, stopping on his shoulder. "I'm right, as usual. You have nothing to regret, Hutch. Absolutely nothing."

A single tear rolled down Hutch's cheek and Starsky wondered how it had managed to hold out this long. Hutch used his shoulder to wipe the drop away and hobbled forward a bit, letting Starsky embrace him in a strong hug. After a few moments they separated and simply stood closely, Hutch leaning on Starsky for support, not unlike all those years ago in the small room above Huggy's restaurant, and simply listened to each other's presence.

"Thanks," Hutch finally whispered.

"Hey, what're friends for, right?"

They parted completely now, and Starsky picked up the bowl. Hutch sniffed and covered it by rubbing his nose as Starsky set the bowl in the sink. "So, are you gonna order pizza or not?" Hutch said.

Starsky felt a grin pull on his face. "Yes master, right away." He dropped the bag of kibble into the trash and pulled a couple beers from the fridge. When he turned around, Hutch's eyes had turned sad once more.

Starsky handed Hutch the cold beer and asked, "I'm sure Gordo wouldn't mind if you got another dog." He hoped it hadn't been the wrong thing to say.

Hutch merely blinked. "No. I do not want another dog."

"Oh. Okay."

"I'm serious Starsky," Hutch threatened. "No more. They don't live long enough, and I don't wanna go through this again. Besides, I really don't have the time. I don't know what I was thinking earlier."

Starsky could read the honesty in Hutch's face. "I'm serious too. Really." He grabbed the newspaper and folded it before tossing the bundle to Hutch. "While I'm ordering dinner, start looking for my new car."

Hutch fumbled with the sweaty beer bottle and the flutter of papers. He looked down at the newspaper in his hands then looked back at Starsky.

"You know, on second thought, _I'll_ look for my new car after I order dinner." He sandwiched the phone between his ear and his shoulder, then reached forward with his good hand and snatched the paper out of Hutch's lax grip. "No telling what kinda hunk of junk you'd pick out… Yeah, I'd like to order a large pizza with everything on it…"

o0O0o

Epilogue:

Christmas Day, 1979

Starsky placed the lid on Hutch's Christmas present and made sure it wasn't too snug. His blond partner would be over any minute to share Christmas morning, then they would head over to Captain Dobey's house for a generous Christmas feast. The autumn season had been pretty easy on the recovering detectives and this holiday would most definitely _not_ be taken for granted. They had survived a lot this past year. Starsky could only pray that the next year would be easier.

A knock on the door startled Starsky from his thoughts. He had not even heard the tell-tale cough and sputter of Hutch's car. Starsky hurried to the door, nervous energy coursing through him, and greeted a red-cheeked Hutch. "Merry Christmas!" Starsky blurted, grabbing Hutch in a hug before the blond could scoot away.

"Just let me in, will ya? It's freezing out there!"

Starsky released his friend and they moved inside. "Aren't you the boy from the country? What happened to that thick skin?"

"I left it at home," Hutch mumbled, taking off his jacket.

Starsky cocked an eyebrow. It was fifty five degrees outside. "Maybe you're just imagining the cold? I mean, where you come from, it actually snows…"

Hutch brushed him off. "Is that for me?" he asked, his eyes locked onto the gift under Starsky's modest tree. "I told you I didn't get anything for you this year."

"You say that every year."

"Well this time I'm serious," Hutch replied, crossing Starsky's living room and standing before the large present.

"You say that every year too," Starsky replied, although somewhere down deep, his doubt was beginning to grow. Money had been tight for both of them recently…

Hutch cocked his head. "Did you hear that?"

His thoughts dissipated and refocused as Starsky pushed the blond away from the box he had so diligently wrapped the night before. "Yeah, it's your present."

"My present makes noise?" Hutch asked, then a sliver of realization snaked across his face.

Starsky got behind the box and pushed it in between them. "Merry Christmas, Hutch," he said, then took the lid off the box.

Two dark eyes stared up at them.

Hutch was frozen, the proverbial 'Deer in the Headlights'.

However, there was no doubt in Starsky's mind now. "Here," he muttered, depositing a surprised and somewhat affronted looking dog in Hutch's arms. "Got him at the pound. He looked diseased and pathetic; figured you'd love him."

"Starsky," Hutch breathed, his eyes locked onto the ball of dark, downy fur in his arms, "I can't…"

"Sure you can and you will." Starsky replied, shoving the box out of the way. "This was the _last_ puppy in the city- I had to fight an elderly woman to get that mutt for you."

Hutch put the small puppy down at his feet, where it quickly began attacking his shoelaces. Hutch sighed and looked up at his partner. "I don't know if I can." His brow furrowed. "It's not the same dog, Starsk. You can't ever replace a dog, no more than I could replace you."

Starsky smiled and wrapped an arm around Hutch. "I'm not asking you to replace anyone. I only want you to love this guy and maybe feed him once in a while. " He lowered his voice. "When I was walking down the row of reject dogs and looking for yours, this one called to me. Said Gordo sent him."

Hutch cracked a smile but didn't look up. "He did?"

"Yeah, he whispered it down from doggy heaven." Starsky raised his voice and squeaked, "Take me home to Hutch!"

"Doggie heaven?" Hutch looked up now, his smile brightening. "So this dog communicates with the dead?"

"Yeah," Starsky quipped, unfazed and excited, "and Hutch?"

"What?"

"I hear Gordo got fat."

Hutch closed his eyes for a few seconds and a light laugh filled the air. "Thanks, Starsk."

The two embraced in a brotherly hug that ended with a firm pat on the back. "No problem, Blintz. Anything to see you smile." Hutch rolled his eyes in response, wiping them simultaneously. Starsky looked the blond up and down. "Now where's my present?"

Hutch bent down and scooped up the quiet puppy. "I told you I didn't get you anything, now let's go eat. I'm starving."

The blond and his charge were out the door so fast, Starsky stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. "Wait a minute!" he finally called out, grabbing the Dobey's presents and hooking his foot around the door to pull it closed behind him.

"What the heck…" he muttered, cursing to himself as he struggled to keep up with Hutch. "Give the guy a dog and he forgets all about his _partner_!" he ended the sentence in a shout.

"Starsk, would you hurry up?" Hutch called from the sidewalk.

Starsky stumbled down the stairs and landed ungraciously on the sidewalk next to his partner. "What's the big d-"

The words died on his lips as Starsky's gaze landed on his beautiful, red and white striped Ford Gran Torino.

His heart swelled until it was to big for his chest and Starsky wanted to squeak in delight.

"My car! It's- how- when- who-"

Hutch laughed from behind him as Starsky found himself drifting forwards towards his long lost companion. "Deep breath, Starsk, deep breath."

Starsky whipped around. "It's my _car_!" he repeated, and turned back towards the car just as fast, making sure it wasn't an illusion. At some point, he had lost the presents he had been carrying.

"It's not _your_ car. That one was beyond even Merle's talents. I bought this one from a kid in some small town 60 miles south of here. It seemed to be in good condition." Hutch joined him in running a hand over the slick paint. "I don't really know much about these flashy sports cars," he murmured with sarcasm.

Starsky shut his mouth before he tripped over his bottom jaw. "It's beautiful. Thank you." He couldn't presently thing of anything else to say. He didn't realize how much he had missed having a Torino sitting patiently out in front of his apartment. He had certainly not expected such a generous gift from Hutch.

Hutch was at his side then, one arm draped over Starsky's shoulders and the other cradling the nine-pound, fuzzy puppy. "Thank _you_," he said, giving Starsky a squeeze. There was a pause, then, "I couldn't take any more of your fussing about _my_ car."

Starsky snorted. "I think your gift outdoes mine. I only spent thirty dollars."

Hutch looked down into the dark, liquid eyes of the soft, swollen puppy. The small dog radiated warmth and trust so strongly that Hutch was taken aback. This was not the mere gaze of a hungry dog- this was a feeling of undying love and companionship, of a friend that would remain true and strong as long as he drew breath.

Hutch looked up at Starsky and found the same expression.

"No Starsk, I think you chose well."

END


End file.
